


The More Loving One

by nightswimming



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur can't accept himself courtesy of Uther, Arthur's POV, Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Golden Age of Camelot, Good Morgana (Merlin), Injured Arthur, Insecure Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic becomes legal, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Prince Merlin (Merlin), Self-Esteem Issues, Underage Merlin, fear of growing old, mentions of Gwen/Lancelot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswimming/pseuds/nightswimming
Summary: Arranged marriages were usually quite the cold and formal affair. So, when Merlin Emrys had walked down the throne room towards him and Arthur had fallen in love on the spot, the Crown Prince of Camelot had felt… perplexed, to say the least.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 119
Kudos: 614





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first Merlin fic AND my first ever fanfiction written directly in English. It's going to be a bloodbath of grammatical errors, so I apologize in advance for those.  
> P.S. At the beginning of this story Merlin is seventeen and Arthur is twenty-nine, but nothing sexual happens between the two of them while Merlin is underage - just a lot of pining and sad, sad fantasizing.

_How should we like it were stars to burn  
With a passion for us we could not return?  
If equal affection cannot be,  
Let the more loving one be me. _

__

The More Loving One, W.H. Auden

Arranged marriages were usually quite the cold and formal affair. So, when Merlin Emrys had walked down the throne room towards him and Arthur had fallen in love on the spot, the Crown Prince of Camelot had felt… perplexed, to say the least.

*

Their union had been a political masterpiece – the last in a long line of carefully, exquisitely planned diplomatic manoeuvres.

Arthur had bid his time. His father was by now old and weak, and with him his fear and loathing of magic. The nearly missed tragedy involving Morgana’s escape and her painful rescuing mission had been the tipping point. 

Arthur almost couldn’t believe it: he had worked all his time as Crown Prince to get to this.

Since the discovering of Morgana’s prophetic powers, legalizing magic had been its only goal.

The stubborness of their father had almost ruined all his efforts, but Arthur had managed to catch Morgana at the border with Mercia and talk some sense into her. He had promised to fight to protect her, and all the people like her, until his dying breath. She had believed him.

And so, the siege around his father’s beliefs had begun.

*

“Do you know what he looks like?”

Arthur sighed.

“It doesn’t matter, Morgana”.

He felt her smiling while smoothing the lines on his cape.

“Well, better a handsome Dragonlord than a plain Dragonlord…”

“He’s not even of ageyet”. Arthur covered his eyes with a gloved hand. “Gods almighty. He’s a _child-_ ”

“He’s seventeen, you big prude. Turning eighteen in six months. You led armies at his age – on the front line.” She made him turn to face her, smiling softly. “And he’s been capable of defeating his father’s will in order to marry you as soon as possible. If he’s a child, he’s a very wise one”.

Arthur sighed again while Morgana whispered a spell. The silver platter on the table flew straight into her hands and she held it in front of him. 

“Morgana” Arthur warned her, “you know it’s dangerous. The ban on magic hasn’t been lifted yet”.

His sister stuck out her tongue in a very unregal way.

“Boring. It’s just the two of us. So? What do you see?”

Arthur caught his own eyes in the reflection. Deep lines were etched across his forehead and around his mouth – the result of years of worrying, planning, fearing the worst. 

“Not seventeen anymore, that’s for certain”.

Morgana tsked.

“Nonsense. You’re the very praised, o-so-handsome Golden Prince of Camelot now more than ever. I mean, look at your hair. I made it _perfect”._

Arthur shifted uneasily in place.

“Could you make my leg perfect too, by any chance?” he said with a laugh that was aimed at lightness.

Morgana’s playful grin turned sad. Arthur wanted to kick himself in the shins.

“You are a war hero”. She touched her forehead with his. “You’re _my_ hero. I’ll never foget what you did for me, what you’re still doing for me every single day that passes”.

Arthur smiled and kissed her fingertips. 

“You’re not the only reason I’m doing this, Morgana. But you have certainly been the one to make me understand that I couldn’t postpone this battle any longer”.

His sister eyes gleamed with tenderness and pride.

“You’re a great man, Arthur. And you’ve never been ugly. You’re far too old to get insecure about your looks. And really, the limp is barely noticeable”.

Arthur realized with horror that he was blushing.

“To you, maybe, but-”

“He won’t _care_ , Arthur” interrupted Morgana with an earnest smile. “I’ve got a good feeling about this Merlin boy. And you know I’m never wrong”. 

Arthur nodded, breathed deeply in and looked at his own reflection in the platter one last time.

“Flash him the famous Pendragon smile” said Morgana with a wink. “He won’t stand a chance. Now put the crown on that big head you’ve got, that’s a good lad. Ready to go?”

And Arthur, for the first time that morning, was able to relax. He put the crown on and rolled his shoulders. Today was the day he had waited for all his adult life.

“Never been readier”.

*

The ceremony was brief and unpoetic, and thank the Gods for that, because Arthur could barely think – let alone talk – with Merlin’s hand in his.

He didn’t know what had hit him. One moment he was nervous about remembering his vows in the correct order; the moment immediately after all his priorities had shifted so abruptly he had felt nauseous. 

Merlin looked young, very young, his face still a bit round and his body long and thin as a rack. But his eyes, those breathtaking, painfully clear blue eyes, were sure and determined and bright as stars. They had pierced something in Arthur’s chest with the strength of an arrow shot at top speed – his cynicism, perhaps. His wariness, his fatigue, his pain of living. His loneliness.

Merlin also had charmingly large ears, far too big compared to the rest of his face, and unruly black hair that not even the silver circlet he was wearing could hold in place. He was simply dressed, as it was customary to his people, but the long, blue tunic and cape he was wearing enhanced his natural beauty even more. 

Arthur was lost to the world. And, judging by the way Merlin was blushing under his unashamed, barely disguided staring, he was also being awfully inappropriate.

“Welcome them to court” Morgana frantically murmured behind him while Merlin was still at a safe distance. “For the love of all that’s holy, Arthur, _say something_ ”.

“Welcome to Camelot, my lord Balinor” croaked Uther. “It’s good to see you and your son on this happy day”.

Wonderful – his father, who was too old to even stand properly without the help of a servant and had the bad temper of a caged bear, had been quicker and warmer than him. Just perfect.

“Thank you, king Uther” Balinor graciously replied. “This day, this peace treaty just feel… right. I’m content beyond words, and so it’s my son”.

Merlin nodded obediently and smiled. Arthur’s heart almost missed a beat.

“King Uther” he said with a bow. His voice was surprisingly low and rich – a full-grown man’s voice. “Prince Arthur”. Another bow, another perfect inclination of that perfect head. 

Arthur was in _so_ much trouble.

“Let’s begin this without further ado” said his father switching to his usual curt, arrogant voice. 

A quarter of an hour later they were officially married.

*

An hour later, they were already talking business.

His father had asked for their forgivenness, disappearing in his chambers to rest. Arthur suspected that he didn’t want to witness the final, permanent abjuration of the beliefs of a lifetime. What he had done, he had done for him and Morgana. It didn’t make him a better man, but it surely made him a better father – and, in the end, a mildly less bloodthirsty king. Arthur really couldn’t ask for more.

“My lord,” began Arthur, having discreetly thanked the heavens once he could _finally_ sit and rest his traitorous leg, “for you I was thinking about the titles of Prince Consort and Court Sorcerer, but I remain open to all kinds of suggestions”.

Merlin eyed his father, confused.

“I… Yes, they are perfectly fine”. He smiled and explained: “We don’t have titles in Ealdor, my lord.”

Arthur was confused.

“But… aren’t you called Emrys? The Last Dragonlord?”

Merlin blushed and fixed his eyes on the table they were sat at. 

“The Druids call him that, my lord” Balinor answered in his place. “Not his people, nor our court. Merlin isn’t particular fond of those names”. The old man looked at his son with doting eyes. “They embarrass him”.

Merlin blushed even more and made a face.

“They do _not_ ” he hissed, voice nearly petulant. Balinor chuckled. Arthur and Morgana smiled at this bittersweet, moving display of father-and-son antics. After all Merlin was about to leave his family for good. He clearly wasn’t aware of it yet. “They’re just… a bit fancy, don’t you think? Unfit for daily routine”.

Arthur smiled pleasantly. “Then we’ll use them for fancy occasions only. Or we won’t. It’s entirely up to you ”.

After some other matters of minor importance were discussed, Arthur cleared his throat, heart suddendly beating at a wild pace.

“Well” he began, “it seems we have only one thing left to do”.

Merlin looked at him with solemn eyes, having somehow understood. Arthur gestured to the Court Notary.

“We will make the official announcement in public tomorrow morning, after the banquet and the feast”. A neatly rolled parchment was brought under his eyes. Arthur could almost feel Morgana trembling at his side. “But I thought we all would want to… complete this, as soon as possible”.

Merlin nodded, silver circlet a bit askew on his forehead. This boy, with his eagerness to do the right thing – marrying the son of a former serial murderer of his kin to cease the hostilities – had made it all possible. Arthur was positively glowing with devotion at this point. And they had barely exchanged a few words.

“I, Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince and regent of Camelot, for the power vested in me by the lawful king Uther Pendragon” said Arthur, voice minutely shaking, “thereby repeal the ban on magic”. He then signed the parchment, took off the ring with the sigil of the Pendragon clan and pressed it to the red wax poured in a corner. Morgana stifled a sob. “With immediate effect”.

Merlin’s eyes were shining. His father didn’t seem impervious to the importance of the moment, either.

“I, Merlin Emrys” began the boy with a soothing, musical voice – the voice of someone utterly at peace with his true nature, “son of Balinor, Last of the Dragonlords, Consort Prince and Court Sorcerer of Camelot, for the power vested in me by my marriage to Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon and by the Druidic people I here represent, thereby repeal the ban on magic with immediate effect.” He signed the parchment with an exultant flourish. “May all of Albion welcome back its lifeblood with the same joy we are feeling right now”.

A chair fell to the floor. Arthur watched with worried eyes as Morgana fled the room, face pale and streaked with tears. Balinor and Merlin turned to look at him with puzzled expressions.

“You’ll have to excuse my sister” said Arthur, voice catching in his throat, his own eyes burning. “She… is a Seer. I suppose that all of this has proven too much for her”.

When Merlin smiled at him in his impossibly sweet, understanding manner, like a blessing, Arthur almost had to pinch himself.

He had done it. _They_ had done it. His sister was forever safe. Justice had returned to Camelot at last.


	2. Avalanche

_ I have begun to long for you _

_ I who have no greed _

_ I have begun to ask for you _

_ I who have no need _

__

Avalanche, Leonard Cohen

“Dear Gods, will you look at those eyes. They’re like _diamonds_ ”.

“Gwaine” Arthur sighed.

“And those lips, that alabaster skin…” Gwaine, one of his best knights and closest friends, a man past his _thirties_ , Gods almighty, was _pouting. “_ Trust you, Princess, to end up in an arranged marriage and get _him_ instead of an ugly spinster”.

“Oh for all the- _”_ Arthur gripped his goblet until his fingers turned white, imagining it was Gwaine’s neck. “Will you please keep your voice down! Lusting after the Prince Consort is treason and.. and…” He swallowed, trying not to think of the aforementioned, lovely parts of Merlin’s anatomy. Like he wasn’t suffering enough. “Distasteful”.

“It’s a bloody wedding, Arthur. Nobody cares. Everyone is either drunk or dancing - or both.” He elbowed him in the side with obnoxious enthusiasm. “What the hell are you waiting for? Just _look_ at him. He keeps glancing this way, hoping you will invite him to dance”.

Arthur had to grudgingly admit that Gwaine was right. He had already danced a basse with Merlin’s mother – a sweet, maternal woman with knowing eyes that had kissed his forehead and whispered blessing after blessing in his ear – while Balinor had gallantly invited Morgana for their own round of celebrations. Then his sister had cheekily asked Merlin to a galliard: he had accepted, laughing, clumsy with wine and… Joy? Arthur didn’t allow himself to hope.

He couldn’t postpone dancing with his husband any further. He very much wanted to - wanted to get close to him and take his hand and feel the warmth of his breath, his body – but his damned leg had already started to pain him. His thigh felt stiff and throbbing and it _hurt_ -

“Arthur” whispered Gwaine, wincing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of - I’ll ask the musicians for a very slow song-”

“Don’t bother” snapped Arthur, flushing with humiliation. “I will choose the music myself, if you don’t mind. It’s my husband after all”.

Gwaine, the idiot, beamed at him instead of looking offended. “Now I recognize you, Princess. Good old Pendragon pride”.

Arthur huffed and stood up. Merlin caught his eyes, bowed at Morgana and turned expectantly to face him.

Silence descended on the Great Hall. Everyone was staring at them: at his young, lively, beautiful groom, and at their old, limping, pathetic Crown Prince.

To hell with them all. If his fate was to be carried away in a barrow at the end of his wedding dance, so be it.

“A volta” he asked, voice booming through the room, not unsimilar to his father’s. He could almost hear Gwaine choking on his wine.

Merlin smiled at him and came closer. 

“My favourite” he whispered, cheeks red with his previous dancing efforts. Arthur grinned in answer and took his left hand in his right.

“Mine too”.

When everybody had found a dance partner and had lined up behind them, Arthur nodded to the musicians.

The first series of jumps had barely begun and he was already regretting his decision. His knees were wobbling, his footing felt unsure, and he was gritting his teeth as discreetly as possible. But Merlin was radiant in his arms, and when Arthur pressed a hand to his belly to lift him up in the air, he was delighted to see him laugh.

“Gods, you’re strong” exclaimed Merlin with childish glee. “How high can you make me jump, my lord?”

Arthur met his eyes. His heart almost stopped here and there: for the first time in his life, he felt violently hit by a sudden, savage happiness, as it were a fatal blow.

“As high as you want me to” replied Arthur in a low voice. Merlin blushed and looked at him with an expectant smile: the next twirl ripped a little gasp from his throat. 

“The Pendragon red looks incredibly appropriate on you” continued Arthur, already preparing for another lift.

“So does the Ealdor blue on you” answered Merlin with sincerity. They had changed in another set of cerimonial robes, switching colours to pay homage to the respective clans. Merlin had also replaced his silver circlet with a golden one. Dressed in those rich, luxurious Camelot clothes, he looked more adult, regal, sensual - and, as the possessive part of Arthur kept roaring in his head, _his._ Arthur’s.

“Are you happy?” he abruptly asked. He just _had_ to know he wasn’t alone in this blinding joy. 

Merlin raised an eyebrow as he was lifted again in the air, pressing with intent against his side while descending back on the ground.

“Do I look sad?”

“You look charming”.

“Charmingly sad?”

“All kinds of charming. You name it”.

Merlin chuckled and gripped his hand harder.

“I feel… satisfied. Useful”. He looked at him from under his lashes, impossibly pure in his contentment. “We did a great thing today, my lord. We will be remembered for it”.

Arthur grinned slowly at this, swelling with pride. But it had hoped for another kind of declaration – one of a more… intimate, personal sort. Or had he misunderstood? Was Merlin laughing, jumping and holding him out of a simple sense of triumph – brotherly triumph?

As if on cue, his leg chose that precise moment to give out under him.

“Oh for-”

Merlin, quick and attentive, intercepted his aborted movement and stepped gracefully in front of him to disguise it.

“What is it?” he asked in a low, anxious voice. “Did I hurt you by accident? I’m so sorry, I’m clumsy _all_ the time, you should ask my mother-”

Arthur laughed and tried to stop his eyes from burning.

“It’s nothing, my lord”. He met Gwaine’s eyes, full of sorrow, and almost spat on the ground. “Just a _faux pas_ ”.

*

The rest of the feast had been excruciating. His stumbling had left him in a foul mood, and Merlin hadn’t seemed to understand the reason behind it.

“Do you want me to amuse you, my lord?” he had whispered when they had gone back on their thrones. “I can do something to entertain us all”.

Arthur had lifted his eyebrow, waiting.

“Back in Ealdor I used to enchant the fire during banquets” Merlin had explained, his eyes gleaming with good will. “The people loved it. I can conjure up any shape you like. A dragon, maybe?”

Arthur had pursued his lips. _Magic._ He wasn’t sure how the nobles of Camelot, especially the old ones still loyal to his father, would take an open display of sorcery. The ban had been lifted merely hours before: the change needed to be gradual. He was afraid of panicked, repulsed reactions – and he didn’t want Merlin to be insulted by the bigotry of his court.

“Maybe another time, my lord” Arthur had whispered in a cautious voice. “I think it would be better to wait after tomorrow’s public announcement”.

He had almost taken it all back seeing Merlin’s hurt expression.

“Of course” the boy had said, disappointed smile on his lips. “You are wise, my lord. I’m afraid I still have a lot to learn about Camelot ways”.

Arthur had gripped his hand on instinct, heart beating fast. He was already so hopelessly in love with him that he couldn’t even bear the mere _thought_ of Merlin being sad about something.

“Yours was meant as a kind gesture, and I’m honoured by it” he’d said, meeting his eyes with intent. “You are already beloved - I can see it. You have charmed them all, and believe me, it wasn’t an easy thing to do. It will only take a little time to change the minds of the most conservative members of the court about your… gifts”.

The frown between Merlin’s eyes had disappeared at that; but his hand had slipped back under the table, leaving Arthur more frustrated than before.

*

Arthur had faced a lot of difficult situations in his life. He had been to war, had received numerous wounds, had almost bled to death on the battlefield, and he’d been able to survive several treason plots and personal disappointments coming from his own court. He considered himself brave in the face of danger. Or, at least, not a coward.

This didn’t mean that he wasn’t completely _petrified_ with fear right now.

His room was empty: Merlin had been whisked away by his own servants to get ready for the night. Their wedding night.

_ Dear Gods. _

Arthur took a deep breath and walked to the fireplace, left alone with his thoughts for the first time since the ceremony. He hated himself for feeling this revolting mix of emotions: insecurity, lust, nervousness, joy, dread. And pity – for he pitied Merlin, young, beautiful Merlin who had sacrificed himself for the greater good. He would never have married him if not to secure the wellbeing of all magical people. Arthur was the son of one of the most ferocious and hated kings Albion have ever seen; he was almost thirty; and he was… damaged. Weak. A far cry from the Golden Prince of Camelot he was famed to be in his youth.

Right now he would have exhanged half his realm for a glimpse into Merlin’s thoughts. Was he afraid of the pain? Afraid of his first time with an old warrior who couldn’t even properly dance with him? Was he already regretting his selfless act of generosity? 

Arthur pulled at his hair in frustration. The problem wasn’t his desire – however fierce and intense it burned in him – no, the tragedy was his love for Merlin. He wanted him to feel secure, emotionally and sexually satisfied, but he also felt dreadfully unequipped to provide him with this things. He was afraid to have lost his physical vigour and he’d never been good at the sentiment part. In fact, he had so viciously repressed his softest side – Uther had always detested it, convinced that it would have made him a manipulable king one day – that he was barely in touch with it. But he remembered being seventeen; remembered all his dreams, his passions, his volatility, his easy loves and angers and tears. Merlin couldn’t be that different. Arthur didn’t know if he would still be able to reach him, to really connect with him.

Above all things he desperately wished Merlin to be happy. And not just happy – incandescent with joy, joined with him under every possible aspect and incapable of ever thinking of growing tired of him. 

But theirs was an arranged marriage, not one of the romances the bards always loved to sing about. Happiness had never been part of the bargain. In fact, his strong feelings for the boy were starting to border on the ridiculous. He wasn’t supposed to be that taken with him; and certainly not after a few hours. He’d never experienced this kind of attraction for anyone in his life (not even for Guinevere, supplied the most bitter part of his mind) so, why now? Why when he was at his lowest – why when he was so… unloveable?

The creaking of the door being opened distracted him from his grim speculations.

Arthur first saw Merlin’s hand gripping the handle, then his black hair appeared, then one pale foot emerging from a lily-white garment that covered him down to his ankles. He was murmuring some parting words to his servants, perhaps; his face was still hidden behind the door.

At last he stepped into the room and turned to face him. Arthur thankfully had his back to the fire, so that his face was hidden in shadow: for he was sure he was gaping very unattractively.

The white garment Merlin was wearing was so fine it was nearly transparent. Arthur could see his nipples, his navel, the outline of his cock. His eyes were underlined with black, his lips were painted a light red, and he had a wreath of some no doubt auspicious herb in his hair. No matter how virginal and delicate his attire was, his body looked supple and masculine and sinful: a perfect mix of grace and provocativeness.

“My lord” greeted Merlin, closing the door behind him. He stood there, waiting for a reply with a faint blush on his cheeks, his lips trembling. When the answer didn’t come – for Arthur was too busy trying to regain his threadbare control – a lost look appeared on his face and he turned pale all of a sudden.

“Arthur” he whispered, plaintively.

Arthur snapped out of his reverie. Merlin’s eyes were shiny, rimmed with red.

“Why are you crying?” said Arthur, heart beating fast. He walked towards him and stopped at a respectful distance with a shattered expression on his face. “Merlin?”

Merlin met his eyes and laughed self-consciously.

“Sorry, I- I have just said goodbye to my parents, they have to return to Ealdor tonight. And then I walked in and you were so still, so… distant…”

Arthur drew nearer, moved and aroused and wanting to help – a despicable mess.

“I’m sorry you’re sad. You can visit them any time you want. And I wasn’t distant – well, I was, geographically speaking, but only because you… surprised me”.

Merlin stepped forward, calmer now.

“Surprised you?” His tremulous smile seemed to light up the whole room. “Were you expecting someone else?” 

Arthur, taken by surpise _again_ , laughed in that terrible brayish manner he hated.

“No, I wasn’t”. He raised a tentative hand and stroked one of those arresting cheekbones. “I was waiting for you and only you”.

Merlin smiled again, but his heart wasn’t in it. He looked pale, skittish, guarded.

“Shall-” He cleared his voice, Adam’s apple bobbing wildly up and down his throat. Arthur wanted to bite it. “Shall we get on the bed?”

Arthur closed his eyes. He’d never wanted anything more than throwing him on the covers and taking that gorgeous body in every way he was capable of thinking. It would have been so easy, and he had every right to do it – they were _married_ , for Gods’ sake.

But, as he was reasoning before, the problemy rarely was lust. It was almost always love that complicated matters. 

_ Heavens, please, give me the strength to do the honourable thing. _

“We don’t have to do this” he said softly.

Merlin, who seemed lost in a sort of trance, shook his head and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“What?”

Arthur sighed. This really was excruciating.

“It’s late, and it’s been a long day, and you’ve just said goodbye to your loved ones. This… isn’t necessary right now”.

Merlin opened his mouth, now completely poleaxed.

“But, my lord… It’s our wedding night”.

_ Don’t make this more difficult than it already is. And call me Arthur again. _

“It’s our _arranged_ wedding night” Arthur lightly replied. “Nothing too sentimental about it”.

Merlin was getting paler by the minute.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked in a little, ashamed voice. “This- Am I not… attractive enough to you?”

Arthur’s leg threatened to betray him again. Was the boy a complete idiot? How could he have missed the longing, famished way Arthur had looked at him the whole night? And now that they were alone, and he was dressed like _that_ (Arthur was going to kill the Druids, peace treaty be damned – with their stupid cerimonial robes and their damned habit of putting make-up on their grooms), Merlin was even more unfairly desirable - a dream come true. Any other man would’ve already ravished him three times by now. He was an utter imbecile.

_ But you’re afraid, and fragile, and only want to go home. And I can’t bear to touch if you don’t love me back. I can’t give in to you if you won’t give in to me- _

“Don’t be stupid, my lord” he said instead, aiming for levity. “A blind man could see how beautiful you are.”

Merlin seemed to believe him, because he flushed all the way to his chest. He looked a bit more relaxed, too. Arthur was drawn to the lips he was wetting in an almost unconscious manner.

“I know that I am unexperienced” he began, cautious but determined, “and you are not”.

Arthur grinned devilishly. Deflection by humour, he thought, was his last weapon by now.

“You wound me, my lord, doubting of my purity. Do I look like a slag?”

Merlin had the impertinence to roll his eyes. He looked brattish, spoiled – good enough to eat.

“No, _my lord_ ” he said with no little sarcasm, “but we all know you knights of Camelot are the preferred fantasy of men and women alike. With all the muscle, and the fighting, and the adrenaline… Should I really believe you a blushing virgin?”

Arthur threw him an amused look. The boy had some cheek in him. If possible, it made Arthur like him even more.

“No, Merlin” he replied with lazy arrogance, bending to brush his ear with his lips. “If there’s a blushing virgin in this room, it’s _you”._

Merlin gasped softly. Arthur nearly admitted defeat and turned his head to kiss him stupid, but he controlled himself at the last minute.

“Then” said Merlin, eyes frantic, hands trembling, “do something about it”.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me” Arthur slowly replied. “I already think very highly of you”.

“Why?” laughed the boy. “For a signature on a parchment?”

“Your father told me he didn’t want you to marry me, thinking the peace treaty would be enough. But you insisted and forced his hand. Truces can be rewritten, weddings… not so much. You showed admirable political foresight”.

“Yes, we did send a powerful message, I think” said Merlin, drawing back to meet his eyes. “Our two families, once enemies, now united in marriage. Our people can’t hate each other if you and me sleep in the same bed”. He smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I promise this isn’t all a ruse to kill you in your sleep”.

Arthur tsked.

“You wish you could kill me, with those tiny arms. I bet you weight like a kitten”.

Merlin made an incredulous, adorable face at that. Arthur was truly enjoying himself now. 

“II’ll have you know the Druids consider me the greatest sorcerer the world has _ever_ seen” he hissed. “I could kill you with a snap of my fingers”.

“I’m sure of it” Arthur replied gracefully. “But now, the greatest sorcerer the world has ever seen must go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day”.

Merlin mock-glared at him, but immediately became serious again.

“Why won’t you sleep with me?” he asked, plainly and simply. Arthur felt he couldn’t dodge the question any longer and looked straight in those incredibly expressive eyes.

“Because no matter how determined and clever you’ve shown to be, you’re still seventeen. Not even an adult yet. It feels… wrong. And you can lie to me all you want, but I know you’re scared, and tired, and confused. I won’t take advantage of you”.

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur raised a hand to stop him.

“I know we’re married. It doesn’t matter to me”.

“I wouldn’t say no” said Merlin, still not convinced but looking somehow relieved by this unexpected turn of events. “I have nothing against you”.

_ But I want more than that,  _ thought Arthur with sadness. _I want so much more than that._

“Good to know”.

“I know what I’m doing-”

“No, you don’t. That’s being a virgin for you”.

Merlin stomped his feet in frustration.

“Fine! Then I’ll go to bed”. He rushed out of the room, face red with anger. “To sleep!” he shouted from behind the door.

“Very well, my lord” Arthur shouted back, a resigned but at the same time amused grin on his face.

When Merlin came back a few minutes later, he had washed his face and changed in a heavier sleepshirt. Arthur internally mourned the loss of that lascivious outfit – it’d haunt his dreams for ages, he already knew that.

“Aren’t you coming to bed, my lord?” Merlin asked flippantly, still cross with him. Arthur shrugged.

“I don’t sleep much. And I have a speech to write. I’ll join you in a few hours.”

Merlin got under the covers, watching him with a careful, searching look.

“Will you come here for a minute, though?”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow, then nodded. He was eager to flee the room and do something for the painful erection he’d sported for the last half an hour, but he couldn’t refuse.

Merlin patted the mattress next to him. Arthur sat down with a graceful movement and waited.

With his face scrubbed within an inch of his life and his body almost drowning in a sleepshirt far too large for his coltish limbs, he looked painfully young. Arthur mentally thanked the Gods for being able to resist. He could have never forgiven himself. No matter what Morgana and everyone else thought, he was still a child.

“It’s true” began Merlin after a few moments of silence. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. But I know for certain I took the right decision when I agreed to marry you”. He grinned, that impertinent look back on his face. “Even if you can be an arrogant ass”.

“Language, my darling” Arthur shot easily back.

“I’m not saying this on behalf of all magical people” Merlin went on, nonplussed. “Though it’s true I did what I did for them”.

Arthur swallowed. “I know that”.

“But, as I was saying, I know I made the right choice” said Merlin, his eyes impossibly blue and earnest, “because I was feeling terrified at the idea of having sex and I already missed my mother and my stomach hurt so bad from nerves I was about to vomit. And I didn’t even have to say all that aloud. You noticed”.

Arthur frankly hoped the darkness of the room was enough to hide his besotted, protective expression.

“Gods, Merlin, you’re such a girl” he commented with a sneer.

“And you’re a good man, Arthur Pendragon” said Merlin, seeing right through him.

Arthur felt such a violent urge to hug him and never let him go that he turned his face away in a mock gesture of exasperation.

“For heaven’s sake, stop talking and go to _sleep._ Tomorrow I’m waking you at sunrise”.

“What?” yelled Merlin, outraged. “But-”

Arthur stood up and blew on the candle near the bed.

“Shut up. Goodnight”.

As he was finally stepping out of the room, he heard Merlin mumble something suspiciously like: “Remind me to tell you about the dragon”.


	3. Butterflies and Hurricanes

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____ Fights, battles have begun _____  
Revenge will surely come  
Your hard times are ahead _

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Butterflies and Hurricanes, Muse

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Arthur didn’t exactly sleep that night. He felt he had a lot to think about: the lift of the ban on magic and what to do next about it, his meeting with Merlin, his inconvenient – yet undeniable – strong feelings about him. At two in the morning adrenaline was still rushing in his veins, his heart was beating like a drum, and his mind was racing. It wasn’t overall a bad feeling. It was just… a lot.

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Merlin had fallen asleep the moment his head had hit the pillow. After having furiously touched himself in the armoury (like he used to do when he was Merlin’s age and a particularly handsome squire had managed to catch his attention), he had returned to their room to find his husband dead to the world. He was sleeping on his side, hand curled in a loose fist next to his nose, a childish grimace on his face.

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Arthur couldn’t help but smile like a fool. How irrational this kind of joy was. How pervasive and new.

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His eyes still drawn to the peaceful espression on Merlin’s face, he sat at his desk and, with a sigh, picked up again that dreadful speech whose words still eluded him.

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*

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“My lord”.

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Dead to the world, indeed.

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“Rise and shine, dear husband”.

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“Mmh”.

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“It’s time to wake up”.

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Merlin rolled on his back and stirred. Arthur’s heart – that _traitor_ – lost a beat when his arresting blue eyes opened to blearily stare at him.

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“What-” He looked around, confused. “Ah. You weren’t a dream, then”.

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Arthur grinned.

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“I’m afraid not. Hope it was a nice one?”

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Merlin blushed to the tip of his ears. Arthur was immensely pleased.

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“Ehr… Vivid” he said vaguely. He pulled himself up and scratched his hair. “Were you sleeping here in bed with me at some point?”

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“Yes, I laid down for a couple of hours. After having finished my speech”.

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Merlin seemed taken aback by this.

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“Oh”.

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“Yes, well, I slept on the other side. Far from you”. It was Arthur’s turn to blush a little, damn him. “I can be discreet, you know. I didn’t want to wake you”.

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“My lord, this is your bed” smiled Merlin. “You have any right to it. Besides, I could sleep through another Great Purge”. 

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“I’ve noticed”.

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They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Arthur rolled his eyes. 

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“May I come in, your highness?” came a solemn voice from the corridor.

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“Yes, you may,” said Arthur with a sigh. To hell with George and his abysmal timing.

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Merlin rubbed his still sleepy eyes and smiled at his curse of a manservant with such sweetness Arthur had to sigh again.

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“Good morning, your highness” said George with a ridiculous bow.

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“Good morning” was the polite answer. “I’m Merlin”.

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George looked outraged. Arthur had to stifle a giggle.

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“Of course I know you are, _Prince_ Merlin”. Had George just corrected him? This was too funny. “May I help you choosing what to wear for today?”

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Merlin actually snorted. Arthur met his eyes and almost laughed along with him, feeling like a naughty child messing around with an equally naughty friend.

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“No, thank you. I’m used to dressing myself” Merlin gracefully replied.

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George’s jaw dropped in shock. 

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“Leave it, George” Arthur said with amusement, clapping a hand on his still poleaxed manservant. “Prince Merlin is apparently his own man”.

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Merlin winked at him and jumped out of bed. Arthur watched him disappearing behind the folding screen with a smile and walked to his wardrobe, already pondering on what to wear. 

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He almost jumped out of his skin when George let out a terrified shriek.

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“W _hat the_ -”

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“His tunic!” his manservant yelled, pale as a corpse. “It… it just _flew_ to him!”

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Arthur met Merlin’s guilty eyes as he stuck his head out. One of his trunks was open and a deep green garment was indeed perched on top of the folding screen.

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“Sorry” he said in a small voice. “I forgot I had to wait until the pubblic announcement”.

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“It’s alright” said Arthur, placating. “George, you may want to remember that magic is not outlawed in Ealdor”.

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“Y-yes, my lord”.

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“And you surely have heard of what we are about to announce today”.

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“Of c-course, my lord”.

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“Don’t scold him” said Merlin, appearing at his side again. He was wearing one of the long, simple tunics he preferred, with a high collar and tight sleeves. His eyes had picked up the green of the fabric and looked almost unworldly. “I should have warned. It just comes so… natural to me, I can’t help it”. 

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Arthur smiled softly. Merlin was murmuring apologies to his stunned manservant, who was redfaced and struggling between accepting them or lecturing his goofy husband on yet another breach of Camelot etiquette. Honestly, this was getting hilarious.

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“What do you think?” said Merlin at last, arms wide open to better put himself on display. “It’s my favourite, but I feel something is missing”.

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Arthur didn’t know what could possibly be missing, because Merlin looked radiant: his cheeks were pink with anticipation and his eyes crinkled every time he smiled. It was clear he was looking forward to the announcement and the beginning of a new era in Camelot. Arthur wanted to kiss him, and, in a surge of rampant possessiveness, segregate them both in their rooms and throw away the key.

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“Colour suits you, my lord”.

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“But is it the more appropriate one? How are you going to be dressed?”

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George discreetly cleared his throat. “May I suggest the Pendragon red, your highness? I know you wore it yesterday, but the people of Camelot didn’t get the chance to see you. I am sure they’ll appreciate the gesture”.

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Arthur brought a hand to his lips, thinking.

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“He may have a point”.

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“And,” George added with a pompous flourish, “this way your royal highnesses will match. Very pleasing for the eyes”.

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Arthur sighed. He was in full regalia today. How he _hated_ that bejewelled, gold and crimson monstrosity.

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Merlin clapped his hands. “So red it is”. Then, with a mischievous smile: “I am about to perform magic again, George. Look the other way”.

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“I won’t” replied the man, jaw set but hands trembling.

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Merlin glanced at him next. He looked almost… insecure.

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“I won’t either” said Arthur slowly, eyes still focused on his expectant expression. Merlin smiled with a touch of shyness.

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“Good” he whispered for his ears alone. Then his eyes flashed gold.

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Arthur couldn’t stifle an “ah!” of surprise: Merlin’s tunic was now the exact shade of the Camelot flags.

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“Ngh” said George, eyes wide as saucers.

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“Incredible” breathed Arthur. His heart was beating wildly, and not in a bad way: Merlin hadn’t even needed to speak. He knew only very few, very powerful sorcerers could do that. 

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A surge of admiration intertwined with brutal lust coiled low in his belly. His cheeky, youthful, grinning husband was as dangerous as he was determined - a heady mix for Arthur, who’d always been attracted to strong personalities and displays of prowess. 

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Merlin blushed like a courtisan being complimented on her complexion. “Do you really think so?”

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“Yes, I do. Can you turn the buttons the colour of your eyes when you cast a spell?”

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Merlin lifted an appreciative eyebrow and complied. 

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Arthur whistled. “I’m used to Morgana's little tricks by now, but this… This is something else”.

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Merlin smiled so wide he looked almost ridiculous. A boy eager for all the praise he could get. Arthur remembered being exactly the same.

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“Now if you please, your highness, we must get you dressed or we’ll be late” said George in a strangled voice. 

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Arthur was still lost in Merlin’s eyes - so proud and bright and _alive_. He leaned in to whisper in his ear, succumbed to a moment of weakness and brushed his nose against that interminable white neck.

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“Go to my sister before George gets an heart attack,” he murmured. “She’ll be waiting in the throne room with the rest of the court. I won’t be long”.

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“Yes” said Merlin, a hitch in his voice. Arthur noticed the tips of his ears had turned red. 

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“Your highness _,_ the _time_ ”.

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“That is, if I don’t kill him first” added Arthur, perfectly serious. Merlin laughed and Arthur almost kissed him here and there. His fingers were itching with want.

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They drew apart at last. 

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“Don’t be late, your highness” said Merlin with a mocking bow, and slipped out of the room.

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*

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It was a beautiful summer day. Arthur gazed with fondness at his Camelot drenched in sunshine, slowing his pace down the corridor to better take in all its colours and noises.

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Everything was bound to change completely in just a few hours. It was going to be his first act of real significance as Crown Prince; and it didn’t even involve swords and maces. Maybe, just maybe, he could prove he was good at something that wasn’t warfare. 

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Yes, thought Arthur inhaling the crisp morning air with trepidation. For the first time in his life, he felt ready to be king.

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Merlin was a big part of his newfound self-confidence. He merely knew him, but the boy seemed energetic, headstrong and clever: all qualities to be treasured in a Prince Consort. He was also, apparently, the most powerful sorcerer of his generation, and Arthur was already brimming with ideas about how to fully exploit his abilities and expertise regarding magic. He hoped Merlin was willing to counsel him about a field he knew nothing of – and, despite his previous show of bravado, still feared a little.

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Besides, Arthur couldn’t ignore how the mere phsycal proximity of Merlin made him feel… right. He felt inexplicably drawn to the boy. Lust didn’t even begin to cover the matter: it was a strange, wild mix of curiosity, desire, amusement and tenderness, and also something else he couldn’t explain - didn’t want to explain. 

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He’d always known he needed to marry someone who was not only politically convenient, but also compatible with him on an emotional level. Uther may have tried his best to crush his hope for romance in his life but, at the end, he had blatantly failed. Just like Arthur loved the idea of being a respected, admired and brave warrior, and a sort of father figure for his knights, he equally longed for a domestic life full of devotion and passion and understanding. He knew his father had loved his mother deeply; he also knew that losing her had ruined his mind and soul forever.

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Arthur wanted a love like that. He wanted someone capable to utterly destroy him, someone to become addicted to: he was that idealistic and masochistic. As a boy he had dreamed countless times of dying beautifully on the battlefield in the arms of his lover. It had seemed a glorious vision at the time.

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Well, he had nearly died on a battlefield - now that he knew how that felt like, he was more keen on the being held part. 

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Still hearing in his head George’s laments about his being late to the ceremony, Arthur quickened his steps. Even his leg seemed happy and relaxed that morning. He had long ago stopped trying to understand the bloody thing. 

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Sure, the wound had been almost lethal; it was a miracle he was still able to walk fairly well by himself. And Gaius had already been very ill when they had set off to Camlann, so he hadn’t had a chance to treat him personally. His substitute, albeit capable, hadn’t been able to do as good a job. 

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And so, almost one year later, the huge scar on his thigh was still an angry red, painful as hell and impossibly ugly to look at. It hurt and scratched and made him nauseous when the weather changed. Worst of all, even on its best days, it left him with a slight limp. It also had the bad habit of stiffening his whole leg when he was upset, sad or nervous – almost like it had a mind of its own, bent on mirroring his foul moods. Like yesterday, when he’d been foolishly disappointed by Merlin’s unsentimental remark while they were dancing.

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But now his damned leg was behaving itself, the air was filled with the smell of grass, Camelot’s destiny was about to change its course for the best and Merlin would be waiting for him with one of his blinding smiles. Everything was going fine.

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*

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Even with the throne room packed with knights and courtisans he was immediately able to spot his sister, who was grinning like a fool and looked beautiful beyond belief. Arthur smiled and took her hands in his.

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“How was you night?”

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“Heavenly. Impossible to have nightmares when you aren’t an outlaw anymore. How about yours, dear brother?”

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She wiggled her eyebrows. Arthur feigned outrage.

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“Morgana”.

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“Oh, stop it. Is he attractive everywhere or is it just his face that’s particularly handsome?”

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“You sound like sir Gwaine. And it’s not meant as a compliment”.

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“That good, then?”

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Arthur blushed. He certainly couldn’t tell her he and Merlin had slept in the same bed like brothers, and for two hours only.

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“There’s… something about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it”.

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Morgana looked almost demented in her unashamed glee.

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“Arthur Pendragon is in _looove_ -” she singsang.

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“Shut up, you cow” said Arthur without much heat.

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“Why, we shall call you His Besotted Highness from now on.”

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“Yes, yes, how unbearably funny”. He searched the room for Merlin and an escape route both. His husband was tucked away in a far corner of the hall, deep in conversation with Uther. He had a polite smile frozen on his lips and was clearly very uncomfortable.

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“Morgana, why the hell is Merlin alone with our father?” he hissed. 

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His sister swore loudly and whipped her head to follow his stare.

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“He was with me just a moment ago, I don’t understand-”

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“I need to get him” said Arthur, starting to elbow his way through the crowd. Everyone was complimenting him, teasing him about their wedding night and clapping him on the back, slowing him down. Merlin looked paler and paler by the minute.

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“Ah, Arthur” said his father once he had finally approached them. “I was just congratulating myself with our new princeling of Camelot”.

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Merlin’s eyes were wet but his back was straight as an arrow. He turned to greet him, features perfectly composed: “We were exchanging opinions while waiting for you, my lord”.

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“About what?” said Arthur. He flashed a furious look at his father, who seemed completely unfazed. “Serious discussions can wait for council”.

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“I was merely welcoming Merlin at court, Arthur”.

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“You _weren’t_. Don’t lie”.

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“It’s a good thing to be sincere, my lord” interrupted Merlin with a tense smile. “I’m sure time will help us smoothing our differences. Let’s not argue now. Today we celebrate the start of a new era, don’t we?”

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Arthur could feel Merlin’s hand pulling at his arm under his cape in silent warning. He sighed and capitulated, sparing his father one last, withering look.

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“Look at you, Arthur” said Uther with a cruel smile. “So protective. Did he enchant you while you were busy fucking him or are you really this soft? Have your fun with this pretty sorcerer, my son, but don’t forget what he is”.

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Arthur saw red. He almost crushed the fine bones in Merlin’s fingers to prevent himself from making a scene.

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“I won’t allow you to disrespect him, father” he snapped, his temper flaring. “He’s officially Camelot royalty now: not the enemy anymore. Your rudeness is pointless and offensive for everyone involved, included yourself”.

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“Arthur-” tried Merlin, imploring.

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“Enemy? Don’t be dramatic”. Uther called for a servant to help him walk and took hold of his cane. “He’s not an enemy, but he’s not one of us either. He never will be. He’s simply the price I have to pay to keep you and your sister by my side. I don’t have to like him”.

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“If he’s not one of us” said Arthur slowly, threateningly, “then you can only dream of having me and Morgana by your side. Remember it”.

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Uther considered them both with barely concealed disgust.

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“Enchanted, indeed” he sneered. “You’re a fool, Arthur. He can control you in a way you aren’t able to fight”.

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“I’ll see you on the balcony in a minute, father” Arthur cut short, eyes blazing. He was trembling with all-consuming rage and couldn’t stand the worried way Merlin was looking at him.

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“Certainly” said Uther, with the smug air of a victor. Then, leaning on his manservant, he went away.

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Silence stood like a gravestone between them.

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“My lord” said Merlin eventually, in a reasonable voice.

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“No”. Arthur snatched his arm from his husband’s desperate grip. “Don’t talk to me now. It’s no use”.

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“We knew it was going to be difficult” tried Merlin, eyes wide and earnest. “Your father is old. He will probably die without having changed his mind. And he won’t be the only one. But it doesn’t matter-”

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“It matters to me” snarled Arthur, hands still shaking. He badly needed to punch something – the wall would do, too. “I won’t let him insult you ever again. Not in front of me, not in front of everyone else, not even when you’re alone. You will rule over Camelot one day; your authority can’t be mined. If he can’t accept it then he will at least stay silent”. He took a deep breath and searched Merlin’s face with hard resolve. “What else did he say to you?”

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Merlin sighed, looking away.

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“Please. Not now”.

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“ _Tell me_ ”.

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“Gods, you can be such a prat!” exploded Merlin all of a sudden, face red and fists angrily clenched. “Why can’t you just listen to me? _I_ am the offended party and I’m saying that right now I don’t want to deal with Uther’s bigotry – it would be great if you at least, o my enlightened husband, could respect my choice!”

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“I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me everything you know!” hissed Arthur, trying not to shout against Merlin’s recalcitrance. “My father is a bully, and a clever one, and he won’t _ever_ leave you alone if we don’t-”

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“Now, now, these exuberant newlyweds” said a sultry voice behind them. Arthur felt Gwaine’s squeezing his shoulder with intent. “Shouldn’t you have already burned all this pent-up energy in the bedroom?”

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Merlin gaped, affronted. Arthur sighed.

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“Gwaine, get lost”.

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“I will, Princess, as soon as you two will stop fighting like cats and dogs in front of bloody _everyone_ that counts in this kingdom” replied his friend, voice full of mischief but eyes very, very serious. “You’ve been married for less than a day and to the public it already looks like it’s been a huge mistake. Whatever that sad excuse for a father has told you, Arthur, get a grip. We need to present Merlin to our people in the best possible light. And that’s not happening”.

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“He’s right” said Merlin with a surprised, slow smile. “Princess, though?”

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Arthur rolled his eyes. Gwaine grinned, patted his shoulder and bowed flirtaciously – if such a thing was possible – to his husband.

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“Hope you won’t get offended, my lord, if I say that you look particularly gorgeous when you get angry”.

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“Gwaine” Arthur snapped, but the tension was already leaving his muscles. “Mind your idiot tongue”.

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Merlin laughed, a bit puzzled by this unexpected turn of events.

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“Ehr… Thank you?”

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“Our Crown Prince doesn’t deserve you” continued Gwaine, unperturbed.

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“ _Gwaine,_ I swear to the Gods above-” 

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“Yes, you’re right” deadpanned Merlin, looking at Arthur with challenging eyes. “He doesn’t”.

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Arthur almost jumped when he felt a warm hand searching for his under his cape. He squeezed those thin, white fingers with gratitude and smiled, pleasantly surprised. Merlin was looking at him with a peculiar expression that was both irritated and fond. Arthur wanted to hug him, to kiss his face in silent apology, to be alone with him more than anything else.

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Gwaine clicked his tongue.

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“That’s better, lovebirds. Now off we go. You have an announcement to make”.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transitional chapter, sorry for the lack of any significant action! Sadly Uther is still Uther, even with magic back in the game.


	4. A Revelation in the Light of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some awful reason it seems I'm unable to write long chapters. And for that I'm sorry. Hope it will get better in the future!

_ 'Cause it's so easy _ _  
To say it to a crowd  
But it's so hard, my love  
To say it to you out loud _

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No Light, No Light, Florence + The Machine

Arthur clasped Merlin’s hand and guided him to kneel at his side on the steps leading to the throne.

Everyone’s eyes was on them; Arthur’s were on old Geoffrey, who had insisted to put the crowns on their heads even though he could barely stay upright.

“Dear Gods, they look heavier than I remembered” whispered Arthur. Merlin, whose shoulders were still tense and rigid, didn’t look at him but lifted an eyebrow. “What if he drops yours?”

Arthur thought he’d spotted a tiny smile. “I die”.

“Definitely. Or maybe it’ll bounce on your ears”.

Geoffrey was still mumbling something unintelligible with his back to the court. Apparently he couldn’t find his glasses anywhere. Arthur winced; bent like that on cold stone, his leg was starting to feel sore. 

“You’re wasted as Crown Prince, my lord. Should have been Court Jester instead”. But Merlin’s smile had grown bigger. “Your father would be ecstatic if one of his crowns killed me”.

“True”. He innocently smiled to one of Geoffrey’s manservants, who was eyeing him with disapproval. “I, on the other hand, wouldn’t be ecstatic”.

“I’m touched”.

“Just vaguely satisfied”.

Merlin squeezed his hand in warning. A bit of colour had returned to his cheeks and he was valiantly trying not to laugh. Arthur smiled: mission accomplished.

Geoffrey finally turned around, swaying dangerously under the weight of a huge golden crown encrusted with rubies. Arthur stoically murmured a prayer to himself and closed his eyes.

“Prince Arthur of Camelot” said Geoffrey with some difficulty. “You may rise”.

Arthur glanced at his side, his head definitely a lot heavier than before, and watched Merlin accepting a simpler, lighter crown on his head with an elegant bow of his neck.

“Prince Merlin of Camelot” said Geoffrey, nearly falling on top of his husband while trying to adjust the damn thing on his forehead. “You may rise”.

Merlin stood up and turned to face him with a smile.

“Sorry” he murmured, every inch his usual playful self. “Still alive”.

*

An unbelievably hot sun, already high in the sky, had transformed the balcony in a furnace. Arthur took a deep breath and watched the air trembling with the heat. He and Merlin stood waiting on the threshold, still protected by the coolness of the castle’s thick walls: they would face Camelot in a matter of seconds.

“Ready?” whispered Morgana. Her brow was covered in tiny beads of sweat and her eyes were alert.

Arthur scoffed. “I was born ready”.

“You were born a prat” said Merlin, cheeks red like apples. Arthur tickled his palm in retaliation. Merlin squirmed, a nervous but sincere smile on his lips. 

“A ready prat, then”.

“Arthur” interrupted his father. His voice was frigid. “What are we waiting for?”

“Yes, Your Highness, the people have gathered and are all here”. Geoffrey awkwardly cleared his throat. “Whenever you want”.

Arthur and Merlin exhaled at the same time.

“You’ll make it” said Merlin in a pragmatic, reassuring voice: the voice of a leader. “We’ll make it”.

The crowd had started making noise and clapping their hands, impatient. The sunlight bouncing on the white marble of the balcony was blinding. 

“Of course” said Arthur, heart fluttering traitorously at the mention of that “we”. Gods, he’d been mistaken: clearly the girl in their relationship wasn’t his husband. _He_ was. 

*

Arthur had thought this through. He knew Uther’s most loyal courtisans had paid a great number of men and women to sabotage the announcement with booing, staged riots and the like. 

They’d arrived late, though: he’d been testing the ground many months before marrying Merlin at all. 

Most of Camelot’s people had showed positive reactions faced with the possibility of magic being legal again. All they needed was reassurement that it wasn’t going to be a trap and that they could demonstrate their feelings openly. 

For this purpose Arthur had sent Gwaine, Leon and his most affable knights to speak with them at the tavern, in the marketplace, and even door to door. Their relieved smiles had been tentative but honest. Arthur had wondered in amazement how many magical men and women, how many friends of warlocks and witches had been hiding in Camelot under his father’s nose – terrified, hunted like game, but still resisting, still hoping for a better future to come. They were a brave lot. They were _his_ to protect, to defend. And they deserved this. 

Morgana deserved it.

“People of Camelot” he began, smiling benignly at the small sea of upturned faces. “I’ve come to share my happiness with you. Today we welcome peace, for we and Ealdor have succeded in crushing all hostilities; we cheer for prosperity, for our reign has bonded with a cultivated, rich and thriving land; and we celebrate love, which has made all of this possible”.

“My teeth are about to rot” Gwaine whispered to a shiny-eyed Leon, only to be kicked in the shins in answer.

Arthur turned to Merlin, who was watching him with a moved, pleased expression on his face, and lifted their joined hands above their heads.

“It’s with immense pleasure that I present to you Prince Merlin of Camelot”. 

A thundering roar of shouting and clapping nearly deafened him. Arthur, taken by surprise, was exhilarated by it. Merlin’s smile was splitting his boyish face in two.

All of a sudden, a bustling movement on his left distracted him from his joy. A small group of men was shouldering its way through the crowd, pushing people aside to get to the front lines. 

Arthur met Morgana’s worried look with one of his own. Gwaine had noticed them, too, and his hand had instinctively run to his sword.

“The festivities will last until the end of the week,” continued Arthur, trying to stay focused. “Extra rations of food and mead will be distributed to celebrate-”

“Is it true?” a voice screamed. 

The crowd stopped cheering and began staring at the man who had talked. Arthur was right: he belonged to the gang he had noticed before. His father’s idea of a wedding gift.

“Is it true” the man repeated, “that he’s a sorcerer?”

Silence dropped on the main court like a cloud covering the light of the sun. Then everybody started talking at the same time, faces tense with fear, surprise widening their eyes.

Merlin turned to look at Arthur. He didn’t seem scared; just stoic, and years older than just a few seconds before. His whole body was brimming with repressed energy like a tiger’s, ready to pounce. 

Arthur squeezed his hand in a trusting gesture. Merlin nodded and turned to face the crown again.

“It’s true” he said, not an ounce of shame in his proud stance. “I am a sorcerer. I have magic”.

“Treason!” yelled one of his father’s man. Five, ten, fifteen voices echoed his, while the rest of the crowd began whispering and moving to the outskirts of the square. They were no doubting fearing an explosion of violence; and they weren’t wrong.

Arthur turned to look at Uther. He wasn’t smiling, but satisfaction was clearly etched on his features. 

“Princess, say something” muttered Gwaine, who had run to his side with Leon. “You have to calm them or it’ll be a bloodbath”.

Arthur clenched his fists, planted his nails in his palms to let the pain ground him. Morgana was watching him, her lovely face pale and composed, trying to conceal her anxiety.

It couldn’t end like this. 

“Yes” said Arthur. “I-”

“People of Camelot” exclaimed Merlin, cutting him off. He wasn’t calm anymore, but looked frighteningly determined to be heard no matter what. “I understand your confusion: you have every right to be shocked and to voice your protestations. But I barely know you, and I already had the privilege to witness the strength of your character – as strong of the walls of the citadel that made you famous. It is mirrored in the King and Prince you owe your loyalty to. Mark my words: in forging this union, however strange and unlawful it may seem in this moment, they had _you_ on their minds. You, and the values that your chivalric code holds most dear: justice, equality, and the ability to discern what is right from what is wrong”.

The crowd was still suspicious, still afraid of the reaction of Uther’s thugs, but the whispering had abated. They were listening. No, it was more than that: they were _captivated._

“What the _hell”_ whispered Gwaine, incredulous. Arthur had to agree with him. He couldn’t take his eyes off Merlin’s magnetic, authoritative profile.

“I always thought that being born with magic was both a gift and an enormous responsability - a feeling, I think, that I share with all your knights. We are more alike than you think. With power and the possibility to use it, for us comes the weight of making the right choice in every possible circumstance. _I_ define my magic, it’s not my magic that defines me; just like your knights who wield their swords and are not wielded by them”. 

“Magic is _always_ evil” thundered another of Uther’s man, his features contorted in disgust. “It corrupts the soul! You have bewitched our Prince!”

“Let him talk!” shouted a woman.

“Yeah, let’s hear him”.

The crowd was growing braver by the minute. Merlin patiently waited for the noise to abate and resumed talking. Arthur could swear he saw a flash of gold appear in his eyes, a sign of how his powers were growing restless and needed to be kept quiet with an iron will. 

“Many years ago, when I was still learning about the extent of my powers, I swore never to exploit my abilities, always to protect, and never to harm. And so, faithful to this resolution, I waited for the day I could make myself useful. I waited and I waited, until one morning, a messenger arrived from Camelot”. 

Then Merlin turned to look at him. His smile was blinding, and although he seemed immersed in a sort of trance, the shyness in his eyes was a reminder of the vulnerable Merlin he had glimpsed on their wedding night. It was doing magnificent, unrepeatable things to Arthur’s heart.

“He brought the best news one could ever expect: a peace offering. Prince Arthur wanted to cease the hostilities and study how magic could benefit his reign as it was already benefitting mine, Ealdor. He was asking himself questions - the bravest thing a man can ever do. He wrote to me: could it help defend the citadel? Could it make physicians heal wounds and diseases that leave no hope? Could it bring joy, wonder, and solace to our lives? It’s true, magic could be used as a deadly, terrifying weapon – but could it also do good? He wanted to understand the whole picture, to see the world from a different perspective. He wanted to give _you_ the possibility of judging by yourself the complex reality of magic, and allow people who are born different to show what truly lies in their hearts. Those who will use magic to cause pain, fear and destruction will pay, he swore; but those who intend to put their gifts at Camelot’s service will be rewarded. And so, in reading your Prince’s letters with bated breath, I thought that finally, _finally_ my moment had come”. Merlin lifted their joined hands again for everyone to see. “Our moment”.

Arthur couldn’t properly think, nor breathe, but years and years of life at court had made him perfectly able to take a cue even in the direst of circumstances.

“Trusting in a better future that will leave no one behind, I am proud to announce that Camelot has chosen to repeal the ban on magic” he said. Then, trying to let himself be heard over the fresh wave of shouting, whistling and clapping that came from the crowd, he finished: “From now on we will judge people solely on the basis of their actions and not of their nature”.

In that moment, the crowd seemed to split neatly in two. On one side there was Uther’s gang of trouble-makers, shouting about some idiotic dark age of Camelot that had just begun, and on the other stood the majority of Camelot’s people, who were cheering, screaming their joy and jumping up and down. Many couples were hugging; men and women of all age were crying like babies. In the middle of the square a fight had broken up between the two factions.

“Leon” said Arthur, pointing at the brawl with his free hand. “Take some knights with you and go separate them. Don’t answer provocations. Try to avoid bloodshed at all costs”.

“Yes, sire” said Leon, running away with Gwaine. 

“Arthur” called Morgana. She had tears streaming down her face and was beaming with a rare kind of raw, almost painful happiness. Oh, how he loved her, how he had always wanted to make her _this_ content. “Listen to them”.

Arthur turned his attention back on his people, leaning on the balcony to calm the wild tremor in his leg. The sun was blinding him and he felt strangely dislocated, lost in a eerie haze. 

They were chanting something but he couldn’t for the life of him make out what it was – maybe because the hammering of his heart had rendered him temporarily deaf. Long live Prince Arthur, for sure. Long live Prince Merlin, too. But there was someone else-

Oh.

“Arthur” said Merlin, who had shed his almost intimidating aura of charisma and was just a boy again, with a face as red as the Pendragon crest, “I’m afraid they want us to-”

“Kiss” screamed an excited old woman in a front line, with a piercingly shrill voice that seemed to resonate in all four corners of Albion.

Arthur looked at his husband: took in the flush of his skin, the shine of his eyes, the sweat that ran down his temple. He was nervously shuffling on his feet and couldn’t meet his gaze. 

Arthur didn’t have words to describe him. He simply knew that he was lost forever. Merlin would always cut through everything and everyone and touch his soul in this scary, inevitable and glorious way.

“You’re writing all my speeches from now on” he said, trying to distract himself from that dangerous realization.

Merlin met his gaze and laughed awkwardly.

“Oh well-”

Then Arthur glimpsed quickly at his father, lifted one challenging eyebrow in his direction, gripped Merlin’s hair with one gloved hand and touched their lips together.

They hadn’t kissed during their handfasting: rush had stripped the ceremony down to the essentials. This meant that the first taste of Merlin warm mouth caught him entirely by surprise and undid him on the spot. 

It was meant to be a chaste, symbolic kiss, but Arthur found he couldn’t tamper down the stirring of his want anymore. He was still high on the adrenaline and the wonder provoked by Merlin’s triumph - and he was happy beyond belief just to be able to touch him.

At first Merlin went stiff with surprise, gasping softly against his lips. Almost immediately, though, he melt against him, and Arthur distinctively felt the wind picking up with increasing strength, making the flags snap and mirroring his husband’s enthusiasm. 

Completely oblivious of their public, Merlin exhaled a low moan, threw both his arms around his neck and tried sucking on his tongue with a greediness that was both clumsy and incredibly arousing. Several people were yelling in the distance; apparently, the same wind who was actively threatening his balance had overturned something big and heavy.

Realizing that one of his hands was pulling Merlin towards him by the waist – making him feel the heat of his belly, of his groin, of the upper part of his thigs – and that he was about to throw away their last shred of decency, Arthur forced himself to regain his senses. Slowly, carefully, like someone who had just woken from an incomprehensible dream, he broke away and resumed smiling and waving at the cheering crowd. 

He tried to ignore Merlin’s confused stare as the blinding sun robbed him of his vision once again.


	5. Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the waiting! Last couple of months have been harsh and I couldn't manage to write anything remotely satisfactory. Hope it will getter better in the next weeks!

_ The wrong lies, on the wrong vibes _ _  
The wrong questions with the wrong replies _

Wrong, Depeche Mode

To celebrate the success of the announcement, they lunched in the banquet hall. 

Everybody seemed to be in an exceptional good mood. Everybody, that is, but Uther, and Arthur tried to ignore his father as much as possible. He was still buzzing with adrenaline, both from his repressed rage and the internal storm that kissing Merlin had unleashed in him. He didn’t want to say or do anything stupid - and confronting the king now in front of the whole court would certainly lead to him being unreasonable.

Merlin was ignoring him, too. He was deep in conversation with Morgana and had literally turned his back to him. Arthur, in all honesty, was half wounded and half relieved by his coldness. He knew he was being ambiguous, and his behaviour on the balcony had been frankly inexcusable, but he didn’t want to deal with that aspect of his emotions either. 

He tried to focus instead on what Leon was saying about bad news from the villages. During the last month, he explained, rain had been so scarce that crops were suffering and both animals and farmers were struggling with the heat and the lack of water. Arthur proposed to visit as soon as possible the most affected areas to determine the damage.

“That’s a good idea, sire” said Leon. “I’ll just bring a couple of knights with me and-”

“I’m coming with you” said Arthur.

Leon looked surprised.

“But, Arthur… You just got married”.

“I’m perfectly aware of the fact. What about it?”

“Er… We will probably spend the night out, it’s a pretty long road-”

“Get to the point, Leon” said Arthur, jaw set.

“I thought you wanted to be with Prince Merlin” said Leon, now a bit pale. “To… get to know each other”.

Arthur peeked over his shoulder: Merlin was still laughing, with _Gwaine_ of all people. His dimples had come out, his eyes were shining with mirth and his smile was charming even the most recalcitrant of courtisans. He looked lovely and carefree and desperately out of reach.

Arthur thought of having to share his bed with him that very night, after their kiss, after the awkwardness of its aftermath – and, in a rare admission of weakness, found he couldn’t do it. 

“We’ve got our entire lives to get to know each other better” he bit out. “That’s what being married is about. Isn’t it?”

Leon shrugged, cautious. “I wouldn’t know, sire”.

“Besides, I believe that’s entirely my business. _Our_ business”. 

“Certainly, sire. I didn’t mean to pry, you know I’d never-”

Arthur sighed. “I know. Just… Just ready the men and the horses. We’re leaving as soon as the heat recedes a little”.

*

Merlin, on the other hand, seemed to have his own plan: after lunch he expressed the desire to visit Camelot. He had seen the garlands and the ribbons people had put out to celebrate the wedding and wanted to take a stroll down those colourful streets. 

“My lord, there will still be unrest after this morning” said Arthur with a frown. “It could be dangerous”.

“I’m perfectly able to defend myself”. Merlin’s eyes were as hard as stone. “And you, of course, my dear husband, should the need arise”. 

“I don’t need protection” said Arthur with gritted teeth.

Merlin smiled without warmth.

“Thought so”.

Still fuming, Arthur beckoned Gwaine to him with an angry gesture.

“I want you to keep an eye on Merlin. Stay close and watch his every move”.

Gwaine’s eyes twinkled. “Do you mean, more than I already do?”

“ _Gwaine_ ”.

“Just joking”. Then, more seriously, he asked: “Do you fear for his safety?”

Arthur sighed and watched Morgana and Merlin laughing together like old friends. He felt a pang of stupid jealousy. Why wasn’t Merlin even smiling to him but _beaming_ at his hister instead?

“No, Merlin can take care of himself. But doing all I can to protect him…” He paused, blushing a little. “Calms me”.

Gwaine nodded with a knowing air that Arthur loathed above all things. 

“I’ll just be the Leon to his Morgana, right?”

“Exactly”.

“By the way, if Morgana knew that you appointed Leon as her warden she would eviscerate you with a spoon. Since, you know, she’s a better fighter than most of us knights”.

Arthur sighed.

“Don’t I know it”.

*

The sun was even more unforgiving than before, if such a thing was possible. 

Arthur had put his armour on – you never knew what could happen - and was sweating so much he looked like he had just taken a bath fully dressed. Morgana was elegantly waving a fan to cool her face and neck; Gwaine’s hair were drenched in sweat and he kept shaking his head like a dog; Leon was, as per usual, suffering in silence. Merlin…

Merlin looked like a kid on the day of his birthday. Sure, he was flushed like all the others and his forehead was beaded in sweat, but in his eyes Camelot seemed to repay all the sunburn in the world. 

It was market day and the citadel was full of merchants showing off the best of their goods: there was plenty of food of all kind, beautiful silk dresses for the ladies, falcons, jewelry, wine and mead in abundance. Dancers, jugglers, acrobats had gathered in from every part of the land to liven up the wedding’s festivities and were performing on the corners of the streets, attracting adults and children alike. The garlands that had caught Merlin’s attention were dangling from all booths – a cascade of silver and blue for Merlin, and red and gold for Arthur. Everyone was curtseying and smiling at them. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” murmured Arthur, happy butterflies in his stomach. He’d offered his arm to Merlin, who’d accepted it with a courteous nod and was pulling him in every direction to point at something or to wave at the crowd.

“Yes” said Merlin. He was grinning from ear to ear. “I had never left Ealdor before. We don’t have…” He gestured widely with his free hand, “all this, back where I come from. It’s glorious!”

“I am so glad you like it” said Arthur, pride for his beautiful city warming his heart. 

He watched Merlin literally run to a horse trader, complimenting him on a beautiful bay which was currently lapping a piece of apple from his husband’s hand. The man accepted his praise with a wide smile and equally wide eyes because, apparently, the apple had appeared from nowhere with a flash of Merlin’s golden eyes. 

Arthur could _feel_ the whispering like a pinch on his ears.

“It’s true, then…”

“A sorcerer as Prince Consort… Who would’ve thought…”

“Do you think he’s enchanted Prince Arthur…”

“They seem happy… But maybe there’s a potion for that…”

Arthur gritted his teeth and was about to say something when a little girl stumbled at Merlin’s feet and gripped his long, red robes with a delighted cry.

“Hello little one” beamed Merlin, dimples appearing again. He knelt down before the child and sweetly stroked her tuft of blond hair. Arthur had never wanted to be in someone’s else place _that bad_ in his whole life of privilege _._ “Where’s your mother?”

“I like your dress” said the little girl in a very serious voice. Morgana laughed delightedly. Even Arthur smiled a little.

“It’s not a dress, it’s a tunic” said Merlin with amusement. “What’s your favourite flower?”

The child paused to think about it. “I like daisies”.

Merlin made an impressed face, like he couldn’t think of a better answer. Arthur – or, more precisely, the softest side of Arthur, the one which often daydreamed of teaching an imaginary pack of little princes how to ride a horse and hold a sword and swim in the river - wanted to snog him senseless. _Of course_ he had to be adorable with kids.

“Excellent choice”. A flash of golden eyes later, a daisy appeared in the hands of the little girl. She shrieked at an unbelievably high pitch both from joy and surprise.

“Keira! _Keira_!”

A young woman with terrified eyes and face as pale as a corpse’s elbowed her way through the crowd and snatched the child away from Merlin with frantic urgency.

“Are you alright?” asked the mother, checking her daughter everywhere with anxious hands. Then, lips trembling, he turned to Merlin and angrily spat out: “What have you done to her?”

Arthur’s hand ran to his sword on instinct. He couldn’t believe the nerve of this woman. How dared she? The disgust in her voice was unmistakeable. 

Long, white fingers circled his wrist to stop his anger. 

“My lord, please” Merlin said softly. His eyes were grave but calm. “There’s no need”.

“She disrespected you!” said Arthur. He flashed a furious look at the woman, who was now bowing her head and murmuring desperate apologies, like she’d just realized her fatal slip of the tongue.

“She thought her child was in danger” said Merlin, sighing. “Had you never seen magic before?”

“N-no, your highness. I’m sorry”. She was weeping, clutching her daughter to her chest. “I was- afraid- I’m sorry, please don’t punish me-”

“Keira” said Merlin, smiling at her little friend. “What’s your mother’s favourite flower?”

“Lilies” said the child without hesitation. 

Merlin put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Look at me”. 

She obeyed, still shaking. Merlin’s eyes flashed gold again and the woman gasped: he was offering her a bunch of beautiful, white lilies.

“Second time’s bit less traumatic, isn’t it?” he said with a gentle laugh. “Here, take them. Keira here” he winked at the child, “says they’re your favourites”.

“Th-They are” said the woman, shock in her eyes. “Thank you, your highness”.

Merlin smiled. 

“If you have questions” he began - then, taking a step back and addressing the whole crowd, who’d been watching the whole exchange with bated breath, he repeated, “if someone among you has questions, or wants to know how magic works from up close, feel free to come to me. I’ll clarify any doubt”. He tried to meet the eyes of everyone in a display of good will. “And, of course, if you think you have magic, or that one of your children has magic… Don’t be afraid. It’s all fine. We’ll discuss it, we’ll try to control the gift in question and put it at good use. You’re not alone anymore”. 

*

“You truly have a way with words” said Arthur.

Merlin laughed, rubbing his neck in self-consciousness.

“As a prince I was forced to talk in public since I was a child. Weren’t you?”

“Yes, but not with the same results”.

Merlin laughed again. Arthur watched him approaching his favourite horse, Llamrei, with a tender look on his face.

The tour of Camelot had ended on a cheerful note. His people, perfectly in tune with their Crown Prince, adored Merlin, and it was clear that they appreciated his kindness and charm. 

Arthur had had an idea while admiring Merlin’s serene attitude towards the swarm of men and women who had payed homage to him after his display of mercy. He’d proposed to show him the royal stables - he knew, thanks to Hunith and their brief chat at the wedding banquet, that his husband was very fond of animals. Merlin had agreed with enthusiasm.

“Nonsense. Your people _worship_ you. You should’ve seen their faces while you were announcing the lift of the ban on magic. You were their hero”.

Arthur tried not to blush: Merlin’s appreciation was better than the sweetest of wines.

“They trust us Pendragons”.

“No” said Merlin, turning to face him. “They trust- they love _you_ ”.

“My father, too”.

“No they don’t”.

“How can you know that? You’ve just arrived!”

“Magic” said Merlin, winking at him.

Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“Lazy. You’re going to milk that excuse, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” 

“That’s treason, by the way. My father is still the king”.

“Mh” answered Merlin in an absent voice, hypnotized by Llamrei once again.

Arthur saw his stablehand approaching the door with Merlin’s surprise in tow and gestured for him to wait.

“Do you like her?”

“She’s gorgeous” whispered Merlin, patting his horse’s head with fondness.

Arthur nodded to his servant; Tom smiled and slowly entered the stables, clicking his tongue.

“Yeah, I love her colours” said Arthur, delightedly watching Merlin turn to see who’d arrived and drop his jaw. “I think they’re going to match your wedding gift’s perfectly”.

Merlin opened and closed his mouth without knowing what to say, joy still filling his eyes: the beautiful bay he’d seen at the market whinnied and shook its majestic head.

“Arthur-” began Merlin, rushing to stroke its mane, “you didn’t-”

“I did, apparently”. He winked to to his man, who disappeared discreetly. Merlin started whispering an excited stream of words in a tongue he couldn’t understand: his new horse calmed immediately and began searching for his outstretched hand.

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and watched the two bond with a warm feeling coursing through his veins. Pleasing Merlin gave him a glorious rush that nothing could top – not even winning tourneys without competition.

“Arthur” repeated Merlin, turning to him with a blinding smile, “you shouldn’t have-”

Arthur shushed him. “Welcome to Camelot”.

“ _Thank you_ ” Merlin said. Something hot was dancing in his eyes – something that threatened to take Arthur’s sanity away.

“How are you going to name your gift?” he said with some difficulty, feeling dangerously light-headed.

Merlin paused to think. 

“Capall” he said eventually, stroking with utmost care between the horse’s eyes.

Arthur hummed. “It’s a pretty name”.

“How’s yours called?”

“Llamrei”.

“Capall and Llamrei” said Merlin dreamily. Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

He tried to regain his composure – how silly could he be? It was just a fleeting comment about their _horses,_ for Gods’s sake – but the whole morning had taken its toll on his self-control. 

In the cool and quiet of the stables, far away from the crowd and the crowns and their duties and the noise, Merlin looked impossibly simple and attractive: a handsome, fierce, sweet young man in his element, free to love the things he liked most. 

Arthur’s eyes fell on the pale curve of his neck, bowed towards the giant head of his new horse. He wanted to kiss him there, push him against the wall, engulf him in the heat of his desire and keep him rooted in place to be ravished. His heart ached and the lust that had blossomed in his groin was almost giving him cramps, it was so intense. How would Merlin react if Arthur bit his lips and stroked the skin under his Camelot-red robes and touched his cock-

“Have you enchanted me?” said Arthur half-mindedly, delirious with barely repressed need.

Merlin stiffened. The hand that was petting Capall stopped moving.

“What?”

Arthur shivered – he felt cold all of a sudden. 

“Merlin-” he said, mouth open.

Merlin turned around, a shocked, disappointed expression on his face.

“What did you just say?”

“I-” Arthur felt trapped: he didn’t like the sensation. “I asked if you put a spell on me”.

“Why?”

“Because… I feel…” He swallowed. Merlin’s mouth was a hard, thin line. “Strange”.

Wasn’t _that_ an understatement.

“Strange” repeated Merlin, advancing towards him with eyes that shone with poorly concealed pain, “like you were feeling a few hours ago on the balcony, when you kissed me?”

Merlin was too close: Arthur was positively vibrating. He’d never felt so out of control in his whole life. It scared the hell out of him.

“Yes” he said, an anxious anger possessing his tongue. “When the wind picked up and started to break things. Did you enchant me?”

“You are laughable, Arthur Pendragon. Your feelings are threatening strangers to you”. Merlin’s voice was shaking, victim tof that peculiar, whiny rage that men still too close to boyhood had. “I pity you”.

Arthur scoffed. He wanted to pin him down, bite his neck, make him shut up _and_ beg - he craved to make him surrender his pride and his cheekiness and his _righteousness-_

“ _You_ are ridiculous, Merlin Emrys. You think you know everything, my people, my father, my thoughts - but you’re still a child grappling with things bigger than him”.

“Were your precious thoughts about me as a _child_?” sneered Merlin, an ugly grimace on his beautiful face. “Those same thoughts that made you have doubts about me using _magic_ on you to make you feel desire - how could you accuse me of something so vile, of robbing you of your free will without your consent?” He looked shattered. Arthur felt too vulnerable to approach him, but if he’d been a braver man, a better man, he would have comforted him. “Your apparently _shameful_ thoughts about me are yours and yours alone, you arrogant, rude, _stupid_ clotpo-”

“Sire, the men are ready and waiting for you” said Leon, entering the stables at a brisk pace. 

Arthur kept staring at Merlin, feeling desperately impotent and growing angrier by the minute.

“Thank you, Leon” he said. Merlin held his gaze without fear, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat in frustration, hands closed in fists at his sides.

“Where are you going?”

“The villages at the outskirts of the city. The crops are in danger”.

“Because of the heat?”

“Yes”.

Leon was following their cold exchange of words with slight confusion.

Merlin snorted.

“Why haven’t you told me?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your day. You seemed happy”.

Merlin laughed bitterly. His eyes were wet.

“Oh, did I”.

He walked past the both of them.

“Are you going to sleep there tonight?”

Arthur swallowed with some difficulty. His leg was making him see stars. He was afraid to fall on his knees from the pain.

“Yes”.

“Good”. 

A moment later, he was gone.


	6. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am THE slowest human being on Earth. Very sorry for that. Not much happens in this chapter, I'm afraid, but starting from the next the fic should definitely kick into gear. Hope you'll like it!  
> WARNING: there's a brief scene of violence, not graphically depicted, and mention of child murder.

“Leon”.

His oldest friend, who was about to leave the room to retire for the night, paused and turned to look at him.

“Yes, sire?”

Arthur gripped his hair in one hand and sighed.

“Would you ask the innkeeper for some ale?” he said, hoping Leon would understand the full meaning of his words.

All his muscles relaxed when his request was met with a warm smile.

“Of course”.

It had become a sort of ritual of theirs. 

*

The first time had been when Arthur was Merlin’s age and Uther had sent him on his first official mission. He and a small group of knights had to search a druid’s camp for sorcerers seeking asylum; but it had been an outright massacre. Arthur hadn’t been able to control his men, who were fanatical in their thirst for magical blood – Uther adored fanatics. They were his favourite weapon to unleash on his enemies. And the love was returned: they didn’t care for a young, naif boy who’d foolishly thought he was in command.

Arthur remembered screaming orders that no one had wanted to obey, his face full of ash, the piercing cries of children being chased rattling in his ears. _There’s no need_ , he had tried to shout. _Why are you killing them. We have no proof._

_ There’s no need _ , he had repeated while he’d stood frozen in a cloud of smoke rising from the burnt tents, sword trembling in his hand. Weak. Terrified. Unworthy of respect.

“Arthur” had said Leon, who was still his squire at the time, when all had finished and everyone had died under his eyes. “It’s not your fault”.

“Get out of my tent” Arthur had hissed, angry tears swelling in his eyes.

“Arthur-”

“That’s an _order_ , Leon!”

Leon had looked at him with hard eyes, jaw set.

“Not before you’ve listened to me”.

Arthur had laughed a bitter laugh.

“Why nobody listens to _me_? First my own knights, then you? I’m the bloody Prince of Camelot! And you’re nothing but a squire-”

Leon had shrugged, untouched by his barb.

“It’s true. I don’t count. But I won’t leave you alone while you’re like this”.

Arthur had spat on the ground, his stomach roiling, mouth trembling.

“I don’t need your pity. Get out.”

Leon had spat in return.

“Make me”.

Arthur had roared in pure fury and punched him straight in the face. Leon, who’d been trained by Arthur himself, had remained perfectly upright. The next moment his arms had closed around his shoulders in a vise-like hold.

“Let me go” had shouted Arthur, trying to hit him in the stomach.

“It’s Uther’s fault” Leon had whispered in his ear through gritted teeth, face red with the effort. “It’s always been. You’re different”.

“Let me go”. Oh, how Arthur had hated himelf in that moment. His stupid tears making his face red, hot and sticky. His voice cracking. His whole body losing the will to fight. “Get out of here. Get out…”

Leon had hugged him then, so tightly that he couldn’t breathe.

“Not your fault” he’d repeated. He’d started crying too. “Not our fault. Arthur…”

Arthur had let out a wail, gripping the hair of his friend with desperate fingers.

“They were just children”. He’d fallen on his knees, openly crying now, without shame, without dignity. “Women. Unarmed men. And I couldn’t stop them-”

“You tried” had said Leon, taking his face in his hands and frantically trying to meet his eyes. “I was there. You did all you could. That’s the important thing”.

“No” had murmured Arthur, sniffling like the boy he still was, shaking his head. “It’s not true. It’s not…”

Leon had gotten to his feet, leaving him on the ground with his head lulling forward like a doll’s, blank stare fixed on his boots. He was having difficulties breathing and felt gritty all over.

“Here”. Something blessedly cold was pushed against his mouth. “Drink”.

And Arthur had drunk and cried some more.

*

Arthur smiled and watched Leon pour the ale for both of them, warmth suffusing his chest. He remembered so well that loyal, serious boy with long blond locks, no beard yet and pimples ravaging his chin. 

Arthur had knighted him as soon as he could. Not even six months later Leon was his second in command. When he’d been wounded at Camlann, he’d taken his place as head of the knights. 

They shared an easy, brotherly bond made of absolute trust built on the battlefield, a whole childhood spent together training with wooden weapons and a few but precious moments of complete, almost painful sincerity, when they showed each other their most vulnerable sides and dissected their emotions like insects. They drank and talked for hours, usually at night, and then resumed their virile camaraderie like nothing ever happened.

When they were nineteen and Leon had yet to kiss a girl or a boy, choosing instead to watch with miserable eyes the royal family’s table every time a banquet or a feast offered him an occasion for some courting, Arthur had made him drink his whole weight in wine. Nearly comatose with alcohol, Leon had finally confessed he was desperately in love with Morgana – had been from the first time he’d seen her arriving on horseback at Camelot. 

In retaliation, when, after Camlann, Guinevere and Lancelot had disappeared into thin air and Arthur had barricated in his rooms to better heal his leg and his heart, Leon had pounded on his door for a whole morning. Eventually he’d made him confess their affair and his subsequent decision of letting them go to be happy together.

Nobody else knew these things – not for certain, anyway. They were heavy secrets that kept them together in empathy and compassion. Arthur hated opening himself - he _loathed_ talking about his feelings, his regrets and his fears, but Leon’s serene, balanced presence made the whole ordeal a little less difficult. He knew he would feel better after having cleaned his wounds with him. More lucid. Fit once more to be a stoic, calculating slave to Camelot – as he should always be. 

“Do you think I made the right choice?” asked Arthur, loosening the laces of his shirt. “Coming here tonight?”

Leon was sitting bare-chested on the chair opposite his bed, legs open and sweat covering his brow, ale firmly lodged in his head. The heat was still unbearable: Arthur joined him without hesitation and took off his shirt with a sigh of relief.

“I think you showed these people support when they needed it most” said Leon. “Knowing that you’ve recently got married and that, still, you decided to come visit their village to find a solution… It has certainly cheered them up”. He smirked, teasing. “Sure, your big blue eyes are yet to make it rain, but the gesture was no doubt appreciated”.

Arthur huffed and kicked his chair. “Mocking your prince’s big blue eyes is insubordination”.

“Indeed”.

“You never mock Morgana’s big blue eyes”.

Leon made an affronted face.

“That’s a low blow”.

Arthur laughed and got up to refill both their cups, lazily scratching his chest.

“Stop pining and maybe I’ll stop be unfair”.

“If only”. Leon sighed the deep, dramatic sigh of the almost drunk. “Anyway: yes, you did a good thing for your people, nothing new. But in doing so you left Prince Merlin alone, and he’s been your husband for less than a day – that, not so good”.

Arthur let himself fall on the bed. “I know”.

Leon waited patiently for him to go on, eyes attentive and preoccupied.

“It’s not like you, Arthur” he said when his prince remained silent, battling with his words.

“Is it? I don’t know”.

“You’re more considerate than this, usually. If merely for diplomacy alone”.

Arthur played with his cup, lost in his thoughts. He definitely needed to drink more to be able to talk about this.

“You don’t like him? Is that the reason?” tried Leon.

“No”. Arthur blushed and shook his head. “I mean, yes, I do like him. He confirmed the first impression I got from our letters: he’s clever, determined, capable. I’m sure he’ll make an excellent Prince Consort”.

Leon rolled his eyes.

“Forget your damned crown for one bloody minute”. Drunk Leon, unlike Sober Leon, was impatient and swore a lot: Arthur had forgotten that. “Do you _like_ him?”

“He’s not ugly. It could have been worse”.

“You’re not drunk enough” deadpanned Leon, eyebrows pinched in disapproval. “Do something about it and stop giving idiotic answers”.

Arthur laughed and obeyed. He downed half a cup in one swig, feeling deliciously light-headed.

Leon hummed his contentment.

“I’ll try again: are you attracted to him? At least a little bit? Or are you avoiding your marriage bed?”

Arthur tried not to think too much. It was Leon, after all: he needed this.

“I am”. He cleared his throat, feeling hot all over. “That’s not the problem”.

“I had the impression that you liked him” said Leon, not mockingly. 

Arthur groaned. “Don’t be ridiculous, how could you-”

“It’s a good thing, Arthur” interrupted Leon, voice calm but stern. “Stop feeling embarassed about something that is perfectly natural. You’ve denied yourself far too much. And Merlin is young, handsome and with a lively character. He will brighten your days, I’m sure”.

“Yes” said Arthur, almost dreamily. “He will”.

Leon repressed a laugh.

“And he talks back quite a bit, I’ve noticed”.

“I like that in him.”

“So he’s not hard on the eyes, his spine is straight, and your political views are perfectly aligned. What’s wrong then?”

Arthur hesitated, unsure. Leon started to worry.

“Arthur, really, I don’t mean to be inappropriate, but has something happened during your wedding night?”

“Nothing happened” said Arthur much too fast. “That’s the problem”.

Leon made a surprised noise.

“Leon, you must swear not to talk with anyone about this” said Arthur, meeting his eyes with urgency. “It could invalidate the whole marriage”.

“I swear it on my life, Arthur” said Leon, loyalty shining in his eyes. “I’m… sorry to hear about that”.

Arthur started pulling on his hair, frustrated, elbows on his knees.

“He was…” He swallowed, blood pumping faster in his veins at the mere thought of that night. “He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, when he walked into our room. I couldn’t wait; I was dying to touch him, but I didn’t trust- I felt inadequate. I was afraid of making a fool of myself, afraid of how my leg could react-”

“Oh, Arthur”.

“And he looked so young – too young. And so pale. He was wearing this… this Druidic thing that was _indecent_ and… it all seemed so forced. We’d barely talked before that moment. He was very nervous, but wanted to do it anyway. He felt obliged by duty, I guess. And suddendly all my desire transformed into nausea. I couldn’t bear the thought of him gritting his teeth and sacrificing himself while I was nearly going crazy from wanting him. I felt so old, so… perverted. I said no. And he thanked me for it”.

Arthur’s head was spinning. He heard the screeching of a chair against the floor: Leon touched him on the shoulder with a warm hand.

“You were very considerate. And you’ve made the right choice, if you got the impression that he wasn’t ready” he said, looking touched. “But you were doing nothing morally wrong, Arthur. You’re legally married. And he’s young, yes, but he’ll come of age in just a few months. I think that it’s your perception – because you care for him – that makes everything difficult”.

Arthur sighed. His stupid, exaggerated feelings that distorted everything. Who was the impressionable boy between them? Who had fallen in love without even having heard the other speak yet, like a stupid, vapid kitchenmaid? Embarassed, he tried to change the subject.

“After that… I don’t know, sometimes I think we could get on, while some other times... We joke, I make him laugh, and it’s true that we agree on so many things, but then he does _something_ and I lose my head. I knew very well that he didn’t want any more physical interaction and yet, on the balcony, I literally pounced on him”.

“He didn’t seem recalcitrant, Arthur” said Leon, clearing his throat. “I had to look the other way when you were kissing, truth to be told. He was very… enthusiastic _”._

_ “ _ For show” replied Arthur without losing a beat. “We were in public. It was important to let the people know that we were in armony”.

“Why do you think he was pretending?” said Leon, scowling. “You’ve been good to him, Arthur. He certainly knows that”.

Arthur scoffed.

“I’m the son of Uther Pendragon. Camelot is covered in the blood of his kin. I can’t even properly walk-”

“Nonsense. You’re projecting your own insecurities about yourself. It’s human, but you’re wrong. I’ve seen the way he was looking at you when you made the announcement”.

“And how was he looking at me?”

“Like you were embodying everything that is right in this world”.

Arthur shook his head, but he was smiling, a bit moved.

“Now who’s projecting?”

Leon snorted. His eyes were so calming, so fond, like those of a loving mother.

“I can’t wait for you to be king, Arthur”.

“And I can’t wait for you to be my brother-in-law”.

“Stop it”. Leon had turned a devastating shade of red. “It will never happen”.

“Not if you won’t declare your love, that’s for sure”.

Leon got up and poured himself a tall glass of wine. He seemed tortured.

“She’s full of men dying after her. Rich men. Royalty from all corners of Albion. Why should she choose me?”

Arthur felt his temper flaring.

“You’re one of Camelot best knights, you come from a noble family, you have protected the Pendragons since you were nothing but a boy. I don’t see any problem”.

Leon sighed.

“Arthur…”

“You never talk to her if it’s not strictly necessary. She hasn’t got the chance to get to know you. I’ve appointed you as her warden to give you an opportunity to be near her – risking my life, I might add, you know Morgana – and you’ve done _nothing-_ ”

“Morgana is too much for me” said Leon, not looking him in the eyes. “I’m grateful for your kind words, but she could have anyone – exotic princes, powerful kings, charming diplomats… and the list goes on. She’s never shown any interest. She likes Gwaine, she likes Merlin, those kind of exuberant personalities – I’m too… controlled for her”.

Arthur shot him a thundering look, like his words were offending him personally.

“Nonsense. You don’t know that”.

Leon laughed with a bit of effort.

“Just because you tolerate the thought of me with her-”

“Because you’re clearly the best candidate!” yelled Arthur, drunk for good.

“It doesn’t mean she thinks the same”. Leon paused to gather his thoughts. “You know, you shouldn’t mistake Merlin’s nerves for reluctance. Surely he must have been a bit afraid, we all were the first time, but you Pendragons are so bloody _intimidating_. Sometimes I can’t even bear to look Morgana in the face, she’s so unbelievably beautiful. You are both naturally elegant, and magnetic, and imposing, and Uther has trained you to be nothing short of perfect in all circumstances. You’re always thinking of the greater good and the right move to make for Camelot, for the rights of magical people, for the endangered crops… It can be hard to get close to you”.

Arthur remembered Merlin’s words that damned night: _you looked so distant._

“You talked about feeling inadequate, well…” Leon finished his wine with a mournful sip. “Sometimes the fear of not being enough for both of you keeps me up at night”.

“There’s no way you can fail me” said Arthur vibrantly, trying to meet his gaze. “I couldn’t wish for a better knight. For a better friend”. 

_ It’s Uther’s fault. It’s always been. You’re different. _

Leon smiled, not entirely convinced but pleased by his words.

“Thank you, sire”. He kicked his chair again, nearly missing his target. Ale, wine, then more ale… The morning after was going to be spectacularly painful. “But we were talking about our new prince of Camelot”.

Arthur’s tongue was blessedly loose by now. “I anger him. Constantly. Either I push him too hard or I simply say the wrong thing. I can’t seem to read him”.

“An example? What made him snap when I joined you in the stables?”

Arthur blushed so hard he felt like a fever was burning him.

“I- we were alone for the first time in a while and-” He stopped, breathed deeply, and tried again. “He’d seen this horse, when we were at the market, that he seemed to like very much and I bought it for him”. Arthur ignored Leon’s whistle and sappy face. “ _Shut up._ It was his wedding’s gift. It was mandatory. He seemed so happy, he adores animals, and seeing him like this… I just wanted to reach him. In every possible way. I got this bad feeling again, like I wouldn’t be able to control myself, and I got angry and I asked him if he had enchanted me”.

Leon lifted an unbelieving eyebrow. Arthur raised his hands in defense.

“I know. I know”.

“Arthur… That’s simply what being in love feels like”.

Arthur took his head in his hands. His temples were about to explode.

“It’s _awful”._ His mouth felt dry as paper. “It wasn’t like this with Guinevere”.

“Thank the Gods for that, I’d say”.

Arthur snorted.

“Yes”.

Leon squinted his eyes and looked at him with owlish seriousness.

“Listen to me, Arthur: first you say no to him – for noble motives! but it was still a no – then you kiss him, then when he reciprocates you accuse him of having fabricated everything. It’s a miracle he hasn’t turned you into a toad yet. And you’re the grown man out of the two, so you really have no excuses. Apologize and everything will be alright”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having met Merlin later in life, I wondered who would be Arthur's closest confidant. I've always liked the idea of him and Leon being childhood friends so I went with that. We stan motherhen!Leon (and drunk!Leon).  
> The Arthur that I saw in my head while watching the show has always been a traumatized, lonely child first and foremost, and the headcanon of him and Leon witnessing and/or reluctantly participating in an act of violence against Druids in their youth has always fascinated me.


	7. Feeling Like A Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say except that everybody in this fic seems to talk an awful lot.

_ When you're feeling like a lover _ _  
Nothing really matters anymore _

I Need You, Nick Cave

The next day they rode back to Camelot shortly after sunrise.

Arthur had slept like the dead and, although he had woken with a splitting headache, he felt amazingly calm and focused. He was dying to see Merlin and make things right between them; he now knew he could do it, while the day before he’d felt completely lost and discouraged.

He looked over his shoulder at Leon – equally in pain and equally grinning – and raised one eyebrow in challenge.

“Race you to Camelot?”

“I won’t make you win just because you’re my king”.

Arthur laughed.

“I don’t expect anything less. And last time I checked I was still a prince”.

“You’ll always be a king to me” said Leon. His smile had turned into something more serious. “No matter what happens”.

Arthur felt his throat tighten, and nodded. The moment stretched between them, tranquil and comfortable in the warm air of that beautiful summer’s morning, until Leon took advantage of it and sprinted before an outraged Arthur.

*

The throne room was bathed in sunlight and looked, for the first time in his life, like home, just like his own private rooms. 

He recognized Morgana’s and Merlin’s voices even before opening the door. They were sitting on the thrones, bodies slightly turned to better talk with each other, laughing and gesticulating together like gossiping maids. Arthur’s heart squeezed painfully at the sight: both pale, dark haired and beautiful, they looked like brother and sister. And they were his – his to love, understand, fight for. This was his world now. It looked like a dream, and his job was trying to make it real day after day.

“Actually that would be my throne, dear sister” he said, walking towards them.

Morgana turned to look at him and smiled brightly. To Arthur’s surprise, Merlin smiled too, though it was more of a tense little grimace. 

“Father said I could” singsang Morgana. “Welcome back”.

“He would” said Arthur, rolling his eyes as he bent to kiss her hand. “Thank you”.

“I’ll steal your crown another day”.

“I’m trembling with fear”.

Merlin chuckled, eyes still a bit shifty. Arthur met his gaze and smothered the instinct to kiss his hand, too – and his wrist, his shoulder, his neck… The list went on endlessly.

“Welcome back, my lord” said Merlin. His voice was calm but he had cleared his throat on the last syllable, betraying his nervousness. 

“Thank you” answered Arthur. _Please, please say you forgive me_ _because I can’t even bear the thought of hurting you_ he wanted to add, desperate to erase the awkwardness that was palpable between them; but they weren’t alone, and so he tried to lighten the mood instead. “Stay alert, my lord. This lovely lady you see here”, he pointed to Morgana and started whispering, “is, in truth, a _sorceress_ ”.

“No” murmured Merlin, eyes large with fake horror – to Arthur’s delight, he too seemed anxious to distract himself from the memory of their fight. “Impossible!”

“Ah but I forgot. It’s not a secret anymore. Magic is legal now”.

Merlin’s smile grew larger, all insecurity forgotten.

“I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t hear you well. Could you speak louder?”

Morgana was shaking his head, feigning an air of superiority with eyes that were a bit wet.

Arthur cupped his hands in front of his mouth and yelled: “Magic is legal!”

His words bounced on the big windows, on the high ceiling, on the wooden walls of the heart of the castle, their echo intertwining with three joyful laughs.

“You’re not crying, are you, dear sister” teased Arthur, winking at Merlin.

“Shut up” sniffed Morgana. “I hate you. Please go away again”.

“Not only she’s a sorceress,” continued Merlin in a complicit tone that made Arthur’s heart do a little stutter, “she’s a lying one. We’ve been preparing a surprise for you all morning”.

“I hope it’s not a real ploy to get my throne?” said Arthur, eyebrows raising in silent question.

“Merlin…” Morgana seemed suddendly unsure. “I don’t know if I can-”

“Of course you can” said Merlin, putting a hand on her shoulder with a kind smile. “You did wonderfully earlier. Let’s show the Crown Prince what you’re capable of”.

She nodded, though still a bit unconvinced, and stood up. “Sit down here, Arthur”.

“Yes, my lady” was the exasperated answer. “I don’t need your permission. It’s my th-”

“My Gods, do you ever stop?” 

“No” the siblings said in unison. 

Merlin sighed and joined Morgana, who had descended the steps leading to the dais and was now facing Arthur with one hand extended towards him. The two exchanged a determined glance.

“On the count of three” said Merlin, blue eyes meeting Arthur’s with intent. “One, two… three”.

The two murmured a spell in a language that Arthur couldn’t understand but recognized – it was the same guttural idiom that Merlin had used with Capall. Their eyes glowed gold in the same, perfect instant, and a spiral of red sparks appeared from each one of their hands. Arthur watched two dragons starting to emerge from those bright clouds of magic with a stunned expression on his face.

“Let’s make them fly” said Merlin, and Morgana smiled ecstatically. She seemed hypnotized by her own magic, completely enamored by it. 

The dragons batted their wings and slowly ascended towards the ceiling. They were shining like rubies and were incredibly life-like, almost scary in their accuracy.

“And now together” whispered Merlin. His face was awash in scarlet light and looked almost intimidating, his golden eyes irradiating power and purity alike, like those of a peaceful but untameable wild animal. He slowly rotated his hand to direct his dragon toward Morgana’s; she immediately imitated him, her pale, thin hand smoothly bending her creation to her will. Arthur had never seen her looking more beautiful.

The two dragons touched their heads together and fused with a shower of sparks. For one brief instant the small explosion blinded him: but when Arthur reopened his eyes, there was one huge dragon the colour of blood waiting patiently at the feet of his throne with an almost dog-like expression.

“Gods almighty” murmured Arthur.

“Enough” said Merlin, and clapped his hands. The dragon disappeared into thin air like it had never existed in the first place.

An awed silence fell on the throne room. Morgana pressed the hand that had performed the spell on her mouth.

After a beat, Arthur said incredulously: “I never thought you could-”

She stifled a happy sob. “Neither did I. It was Merlin, he- he taught me”.

Merlin blushed and shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. She already had the power in her. She just didn’t know how to control it”.

Arthur nodded, catching the glittering eyes of his sister with a proud smile.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Good”. She laughed. “So, so _good_. Tired, too”.

“It’s normal” said Merlin, touching her shoulder again with plain affection. No matter how happy Arthur was feeling in that moment, jealousy still clawed at his chest with a viciousness that terrified him. It made him disgusted with himself. She was his _sister,_ his adored Morgana- “You have to pratice gradually. Learning to control magic can be exhausting”.

“I’ll go lay down” she said, cheeks still red from the effort. “ _Thank you_ , Merlin”. 

Arthur’s heart began beating like a drum the moment they remained alone. 

“I’ve never seen her like this” he said, almost to himself.

“Like what?” Merlin’s eyes were lovelier than ever, brought out by the deep blue tunic he was wearing. 

Arthur thought for a moment.

“Free, I suppose”.

Merlin smiled and sat back on his throne. Arthur imitated him with a frisson of pleasure: he loved the picture they painted together side by side, Camelot’s Crown Prince and Prince Consort, speaking in hushed tones with their collars left open to fight the unwithering heat. Surely, to an external observer, they had to appear almost… _domestic._

“Her magic is so vibrant... She will be an incredibly powerful sorceress, I can tell”.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Great, another thing she’ll lord over me. Like she wasn’t bossing me around enough”.

“It must have been hard for her, hiding her gifts”. Merlin’s eyes were pensive, almost sad. “I can’t even begin to imagine not being able to use my magic. It’s such a defining part of me… It _is_ me”.

Arthur swallowed, shame constricting his throat.

“My lord-”

“Merlin”.

Arthur stopped, surprised. Merlin looked high-strung, like a horse ready to bolt, but well-intentioned. 

“It’s just ridiculous, isn’it?” he said. “We’re married and we’re still calling each other ‘my lord’. Idiotic, if you ask me, all this formality. I thought it was time to-” He glanced at him and blushed. “I’m rambling, am I not? And insulting Camelot’s etiquette while I’m at it?”

“Yes, and no”. Arthur turned to better face him and Merlin did the same, making himself more comfortable on the throne. “It’s refreshing”.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you” said Merlin in a rush, words jumbling together, and immediately looked down at his clenched hands. “You had just given me such a beautiful present and to repay you I-”

“Oh no” said Arthur. Relief was making him grin like a lunatic. “You don’t get to beat me at apologizing first. _I_ am sorry. It had been a long day and I couldn’t think properly, but what I said was unjust”.

“You’re awfully competitive, you know that?” laughed Merlin. Arthur wanted to drink the laughter from his lips like a cup of delicious wine.

“Yes, I do. I always try to be the best at everything and I usually succeed, but in very rare occasions” Merlin snorted, “I make mistakes”. 

“Oh don’t grovel like this, _my lord_. It’s unbecoming”.

_ I’d grovel on my knees for you every day of my life _ thought Arthur, but said, “You’re right. I accept your apology. All is forgotten”.

“You know I would never-” began Merlin, pinning him in place with eyes that were nearly supplicating. He’d got closer in the haste of explaining himself better and Arthur was left staring at his lips with a tremor of guilt that was already becoming arousal. “I’d never try to control you like that. I know that’s what your father is worried about, but I swear to you-”

Arthur interrupted him, oddly moved.

“I know you wouldn’t. I never meant what I said. My father and I think radically different about a number of things and this is the main one. I just…” He paused to better phrase his next words. “I like the idea of magic, but I still struggle with the reality of it. With seeing it, witnessing it in everyday life. I’m just not used to. I’ve always forbid Morgana to use it because I wanted to keep her safe. You, on the other hand, don’t even _think_ about using it… And it went to my head”. 

_ And I liked it far too much, seeing you with glowing eyes and immense power a snap of your fingers away. _

Merlin nodded, considering his words with utmost care. Arthur was sure that no one had ever listened to him with such interest.

“I think I understand”.

“I hope you will be patient with me”, said Arthur with a self-deprecating smile. “With all of Camelot. We’re bound to be a bit… jumpy, around you, and around all people with magic. But we’re eager to understand how things work”.

Merlin was smiling so much that his eyes had almost disappeared, becoming little half-moons of delight. He looked so trusting, so optimistic, so beautiful… Arthur’s heart was torn between adoration, tenderness and that shock of piercing desire that never seemed to leave him when his husband was around, no matter the circumstances.

“I’m sure of it. I was waiting here in the throne room hoping that someone would come and ask me questions - perhaps with their children in tow, that would’ve been _wonderful_ – but no one has come so far, not that that’s unexpected mind you, just before I was saying to Morgana that it might take some time for people to-”

“You talk to my sister a lot” said Arthur viciously, and then cursed inside his head. Again with the stupid possessiveness! He wasn’t going to ruin everything again, he had to apologize, he-

“Yes” said Merlin, eyes as clear and benevolent as before. “About you, mostly”.

Arthur blinked.

“About… me?”

Why was Merlin _blushing_ now?

“Yes. In fact, when you left yesterday, I must have looked a bit… er… out of sorts _,_ and she noticed it and asked if I wanted to dine with her”.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone” said Arthur, guilt constricting his throat. 

“It doesn’t matter. She brought dinner to your father first, and chatted with him for about an hour in the North Tower – he was in bed but I believe he’s well, just a bit tired - and then we had some wine and cheese and bread in our room”. 

_ Our  _ room. Arthur calmed immediately, warmth suffusing his chest.

“That’s… good”.

“Don’t worry” said Merlin in a conspirational voice. “I didn’t tell her anything. I just said I was feeling homesick”.

_ While I told Leon everything, even how desperate I am to kiss every inch of your body  _ thought Arthur, and coloured with shame. _Gods, Merlin. I don’t deserve you._

“That was wise of you”.

“I guess it’s better if we don’t- I mean, if people think we have, you know…”

Great, he was so red in the face Camelot flags looked merely pink and Merlin was stuttering like a child questioned about how babies were born. So much about being married.

“Yes”. He cleared his voice, eyes firmly fixed on the particles of dust that were floating mid-air in the patches of sunlight.

“As I said, she mostly talked about you - about how headstrong and arrogant and childish you can be”.

“Slander. Slander _and_ lies”. Merlin laughed; Arthur couldn’t smother a chuckle, either.

“Truth and frankness, I believe. And then she mentioned some minor things”.

“Like what?”

Merlin looked at him straight in the eyes, cheeks still a bit red, his expression soft and wondering.

“That you’re the bravest man she’s ever met. That you’re self-sacrificing to the point of stupidity. That you care about your people far more than you care about your needs, your feelings, your pain. That your knights adore you and would follow you to the mouth of hell – and rightly so, because you’re always on the front line, and you’re ten times harder on yourself than you are with them. That you risked everything to get her back to Camelot when she escaped – that you made her feel worthy of dignity, respect, and love. That you blackmailed your own father, by whom you always wanted to be accepted and valued, to bring magic back to this land. That you know what’s right and what’s wrong better than any ruler that was before in Albion. That you’re willing to surrender your life for a just cause. That your physical strength is the thing you like most in yourself and that you rescued a friend in a desperate situation knowing that, if you had survived at all, most likely you would have been wounded to the point of no return. That…”

Arthur’s heart was beating so hard in his chest that he couldn’t breathe, or speak, or think. Merlin was close, too close - he could see every single one of his long eyelashes. His eyes were huge, almost sad, and were looking at him with such admiration, empathy, and please _not_ pity, no, _everything but pity_ -

“Well? What else has that wretched woman been blabbing about?” he heard himself say in a scathing tone.

Merlin swallowed and looked away.

“That you always wanted to marry for love. That she and you used to daydream as children about how wonderful your married life would be. That you thought that marrying me, and thus saving her, was more important than all that-”

Arthur saw red. He gritted his teeth, fists clenched at his sides, and closed his eyes against the assault of memories.

_ Guinevere smiling tearfully at him, Lancelot lying covered in blood at Camlann, a ring given back with a thousand apologies, the unbearable amount of love and hate he’d felt about them both- _

“Morgana said it right, Merlin. We were children. Just- children. We have grown now”. His voice sounded so distant, like it was lost in the wind. He’d never felt so exposed, so vacillating, so in danger; his leg was already starting to grow rigid, spasms of pain climbing all the way up to his knee.

“Well apparently I’m still one. I didn’t behave like an adult yesterday”. Arthur _hated_ Merlin’s hunched shoulders, the nervous tremor in his hands, the way he was avoiding his eyes, talking to the floor. “I was so ashamed afterwards- you were trying so hard to make everything work, you sacrificed so much, and now you’re stuck with an hysterical boy who throws _tantrums_ because-”

“Don’t diminish yourself like that” said Arthur, losing his patience. He desperately wanted to change topic – the cruel irony of their conversation!... – but he couldn’t accept Merlin’s bout of self-loathing. “You left your home and family behind to be married at seventeen to the son of a king who, up until six months ago, would have burned you on a pyre-”

“Arthur, there’s something I have to tell you” interjected Merlin with a trembling voice. “About us. There’s this dragon, you see-”.

But Arthur didn’t want to listen: he just wanted to end this conversation, get away from him in order to recollect himself _and_ kill Morgana, not necessarily in this order. 

“No, let me finish. You did the right thing, a brave thing, and certainly love hadn’t been on the table for you either when we made this decision. I don’t need yours or Morgana’s compassion just as you don’t need mine. We’re royalty; our duty is to think about our people first and foremost. Lost romances are a small price we must be ready to pay if we don’t want to lose our minds”.

_ I don’t care if you don’t love me. I can love enough for the both of us. But I can’t stand you feeling sorry for me. _

“It isn’t compassion” tried Merlin, and he looked properly aghast now. “Arthur-”

“I’m hungry” said Arthur, standing up with some difficulty – his leg was completely blocked now, as hard and unresponding as stone - and starting to walk out the throne room. “It’s been a long ride. And we have yet to find a solution for the villagers. This damned heat doesn’t seem to recede even one bit”.

“I have a solution”. Merlin had appeared at his side, his long – _white, perfect, maddening_ – legs catching up with him and his thrice-damned limp. “If you only would listen-”

Arthur huffed. 

“I’m all ears, dear husband”.

In truth, he was so shaken up that he could focus only on one thing: how to best fashion a painful enough death for his sister.

*

After Merlin had muttered something about rain spells and “you could have asked me yesterday, I would have done it immediately” and “you can’t just interrupt a conversation like that!”, Arthur asked him to fetch a servant and order him to prepare the horses and some food for the trip; they would eat on the road. There was no time to lose and, most importantly, they definitely needed a diversion from this far too consuming, neverending discussion. When Merlin had disappeared around the corner, not pleased but obedient for once, Arthur marched to his sister’s rooms and nearly kicked down the door.

Morgana woke up with a surprised yelp – she was still in bed trying to recover her energies.

“Arthur!” she shouted, outraged.

“You had no right telling him those things!” screamed Arthur way louder. “How _dared_ you-”

“He was inconsolable, you insensitive prat! He felt rejected and alone. You should thank me for convincing him to see you in a different light!”

“You’re a meddling thorn in my side” said Arthur, lifting one finger to better threaten her. “You always have been. Do it again and I-”

“Oh get over yourself” scoffed Morgana. “Admit that you spent the night out because you couldn’t stand the idea of him being angry with you. You’re an idiot, by the way, he cooled down very quickly and was feeling terribly guilty not even an hour after you went to the villages”.

“I know. He _told_ me. We could have sorted everything out without your _pitiful little speech-_ ”

“Does it pain you so much to have people see your best side? Allowing your own husband to get closer to you? A man you’ve been hopelessly infatuated with since the first moment-”

“Why don’t you tell him that too?” Arthur was yelling again; he desperately needed to vent, to get rid of the ugly thoughts raging inside his head. “Why don’t you just push him at me like you did with Guinevere? Let’s see which one of my knights he will elope with once he’s convinced me that he loves me!”

Morgana dropped her anger and looked stricken.

“Arthur-”

“Stay. Out. Of. It”.

“It won’t happen again-”

“Yes, because _I_ won’t let it happen”. His hands were shaking. His leg was starting to give in under him. No matter how hard he had screamed and how guilty Morgana appeared now, his anguish hadn’t disappeared. On the contrary: he felt more hollow than before. All he could see before his eyes was Guinevere’s face, streaked with tears of joy and relief, thanking him, _thanking him_ over and over again for his mercy and understanding and- “I’ll do it my way. Merlin will get close _if_ and _when_ he’ll explicitly make his intentions clear. And _after_ he’s come of age.”

“Don’t scare him off” said Morgana, trying for a calming tone now. “I’m sorry if you think I’ve interfered too much – I only wanted to help. But don’t make Merlin pay for me. He’s lost, Arthur, he just wants to know you better and you don’t even want to be _seen_ -”

“Shut up!” He felt his eyes burning and the realization made him even angrier. “You’re crossing a line, Morgana”.

“I hate her” said his sister, nearly spitting the words. “I hate her for making you so wary, so distrustful. She was my most beloved servant, she was my _friend_ , she knew how much I wanted you to be happy and yet…”

“I don’t hate her. You shouldn’t either” breathed Arthur, closing his eyes against the fresh wave of pain that had hit him. 

Morgana laughed, a scornful light in her eyes.

“He was your best knight. You counted on him. Of all the people she could have chosen- ”.

“You can’t control feelings, Morgana”. Arthur felt incredibly tired. He gripped his leg with both hands and cursed under his breath. 

“Arthur-” There it was again, the pity. If Arthur had had any strength left he would’ve screamed in her face again.

“Shut up. Just- shut up”.

He sat down in her sister’s velvet chair, sighing, and manoeuvred his stiff calf on her bed.

“Do you think I like to admit it? I used to believe that force of will and purity of intention could conquer everything, but that’s just a fairytale. There was no malice in their actions and yet they betrayed me all the same. These two things can coexist. Love doesn’t care for our stupid rules of good behaviour”.

He could see that his sister desperately wanted to counter his words, but chose not to do it. Arthur was grateful for it. 

“Don’t let her ruin what you’ve found now” she eventually said in a small voice. “I know it still hurts, but Merlin is different. _I can feel_ he’s different”.

Arthur shook his head with a disbelieving laugh.

“I’m not a lost cause, Morgana. I just need time to fully understand the direction my life has taken. The… esteem I feel for Merlin is as strong as it is unexpected, but above all this it’s ridiculously premature. You have seen for yourself how painfully young, oscillating and emotional he is. He needs calm, stability and purpose in order to do what he’s come here for. Everything else can wait. We both need time”. He blushed and pinched the bridge of his nose in a nervous gesture. “Just having him at my side… It’s enough, really. Don’t try to speed up things. I’m not broken: and I certainly don’t need rescueing”.

Morgana nodded, clearly torn between voicing her doubts and respecting his opinion.

“Have you talked to him about this?”

“We’re on the same page”. It wasn’t really a lie, after all.

Morgana lifted a surprised eyebrow. She looked pleased.

“Really?”

“Yes”.

“That is… good. You never talk unless you’re threatened with death. Repression is your preferred course of action”.

Arthur tried to smile.

“Marriage changes a man”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was writing I was listening to the playlist I've made for this story - the songs quoted at the beginning of each chapter in succession - and OH MY GOD was it depressing. No wonder, then, that Arthur has a complete breakdown in this chapter. Things will get worse but then they will get better, I promise!  
> I enjoyed so much writing Merlin's (Morgana's) love letter to Arthur. My heart goes to him in this story. The more he closes off, the more I grow fond <3  
> Merlin is an infatuated, moody, medieval teenager and I think it shows. I love him being pals with Morgana. They didn't deserve to be separated in the series.


	8. En Route

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what? They're talking again!  
> As always, I'm awfully sorry for the big delay in updating.

_ If all you want are answers to your questions  _

_ And you can’t seem to find no love for free  _

_ If you’re looking for the right direction  _

_ Then, darling, look for me _

River, Emeli Sandé

“I hope I haven’t complicated things”.

Arthur shook himself from his reverie, patting the mane of Llamrei in an automatic gesture.

“What are you talking about?”

Merlin smiled sheepishly, bare forearms almost shining under the blinding light of the midday sun - he had shed his usual long robes to wear something more comfortable for their trip. Arthur had never seen him in breeches: he looked less ethereal, more masculine. His legs were firm and interminably long. To protect his white throat he had covered it with a red neckerchief and was shielding his eyes from the sun with a gloved hand.

“I shouldn’t have referred these things to you. I see that they have troubled you”.

Arthur took from him the bread and the cheese Cook had prepared for their lunch and put them in his saddlebag.

“They haven’t” he said briskly, avoiding his eyes.

Merlin sighed.

“I realize that she’s your sister and that you know her far better than I do, but Morgana meant well. She just wanted to reassure me. It’s my fault – I can never keep my mouth shut”.

Arthur shook his head and mounted on Llamrei. Merlin imitated him, and Capall whinnied appreciatively.

“He likes you” said Arthur, amused.

Merlin smiled, pleasure colouring his cheeks. 

“It’s mutual”.

The courtyard was stifling hot and his forehead was already shining with sweat. Merlin’s nose was becoming a bit red, and his hair was in complete disarray – he must have changed clothes in a hurry. He looked… more approcheable. More _human,_ if such a thing made sense.

The mere thought of travelling alone with him was enough to make heat pool in Arthur’s belly. He realized he just wanted time with Merlin, in the end. The two of them, a long summer afternoon and the feeling of being useful to his – _their_ – people… Yes, that’d be enough to make Arthur’s happy. He wasn’t a greedy man.

“Ready to go?”

Merlin nodded, and they left for the villages.

*

They remained in complete silence for the first hour of the journey. Arthur was immersed in his thoughts, busy repeating and repeating in his head the discussion with Morgana to get the bitter taste out of his mouth; Merlin simply seemed calm, thoughtful, intent on looking around and admiring the nature that surrounded Camelot.

"Let's stop here.”

Merlin gave him a questioning look.

"I haven't eaten since last night," Arthur said, and Merlin breathed "oh" and nodded empathically.

They reached a stream that was glittering in the distance, tied the horses under a large tree and sat in its shade with a sigh of relief.

"I felt like I was catching fire," Merlin said. Arthur bit into a piece of bread with an almost animal-like enthusiasm and smirked.

"You truly are whiter than the cliffs on the Northern coast".

Merlin shrugged. "It's just one of my many qualities".

Arthur swallowed. _Are you that white all over?_ he couldn’t help but wonder. _If I ever managed to touch you,_ truly _touch you, how long would the marks of my fingers remain on your skin? Hours? Days-_

“It’s always like this with me and Morgana. You’ll have to grow accustomed to it” he blurted out to stop his inappropriate train of thoughts. “We’re as headstrong as mules and we both _love_ to be right.”

Merlin blinked, then scoffed.

“You? Loving to be right? That’s absurd”.

“I know. It sounds impossible, but it’s true”.

They both smiled around their mouthfuls of food.

“I understand” said Merlin. “It was the same with me and Will.”

“Your brother?” Arthur frowned. “I don’t remember seeing him at the nuptial banquet.”

“No, just… my best friend. We grew up together”.

Merlin’s smile turned distant all of a sudden, like he was remembering something sad but didn’t want to dwell on it.

“That’s… nice” said Arthur a bit awkwardly, sensing that something was wrong. “Me and sir Leon know each other since childhood, too.”

Merlin continued chewing on his bread and cheese with a wistful air. Arthur cleared his throat.

“I, eh… I hope this Will will come to visit Camelot in the future.”

“I don’t think he will” whispered Merlin, looking at the ground between his crossed legs.

“Why?”

“He’s not very fond of me at the moment”.

“You two had a fight?”

“Oh, he certainly would have _loved_ that. But he only got to scream at me while I remained silent”.

Merlin smiled bitterly. “Didn’t want to give him that satisfaction”.

“I’m sorry”.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Arthur remained quiet for a minute, resting his head against the bark of the tree while a merciful wind ruffled their hair.

“Do you want to-” he swallowed, not used to offering comfort in a verbal way. But Merlin looked so miserable… And besides, he was curious. He wanted to know everything about him. How did his childhood rooms look like? What was his favourite book? Was Balinor a good father to him? It was a burning thirst for details, a sweet desire of intimacy built though shared memories. Arthur wanted to absorb, to _possess_ at least this part of him: his past. “Talk about it?”

Merlin sighed, head still bowed, then turned to look at him.

“I- We fought about you, actually”.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“He didn’t want me to marry you”.

“Well, it looks I’m incredibly popular in Ealdor”.

Merlin giggled and Arthur’s belly, ridiculous thing that it was, filled with butterflies at the sound.

“No, really, I’d have to fend admirers off with a stick if I ever go to pay my homage to your parents.” Merlin broke out in a full, high-pitched laughter, eyes turning into little half-moons of mirth. “I can imagine your father when you told him the good news: _anyone but that Pendragon fellow! Anything even! Didn’t you always like horses, Merlin? Why not the Royal Donkey, mh? That’d certainly make a better son-in-law!”_

Merlin was _howling_ now, and Arthur joined him with a pleased look in his eyes.

“Close enough” said Merlin, trying to catch his breath. 

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Truth to be told, they weren’t against you, specifically. More like they didn’t trust Uther and Camelot’s attitude towards magic.”

Arthur hummed.

“I can’t blame them”.

“But that wasn’t the worst thing, according to Will” continued Merlin, pausing to drink some water. “He called me a coward”.

Arthur couldn’t hide his surprise.

“A _coward?_ ”

“Yes”. Merlin sighed again. “It’s a long story.”

Arthur got up on his feet and turned to offer him a hand.

“Good thing we still have a long road ahead of us, isn’it?”

Merlin smiled a tremulous smile, gripped his forearm and rose from the ground with a graceful movement.

*

“When I was born,” began Merlin once they had climbed back on their horses, “there was a prophecy. It’s a common thing for the royal family in Ealdor, we’re all bound to be Dragonlords one day and as such we receive from the dragons some sort of… anticipation of what our lives will turn out to be. It’s like a gift.”

“And what was yours?”

“Kilgarrah – my father’s dragon – said that I had immense power. Magical power. That I was born with it.”

“Is it… unusual?”

Merlin patted Capall’s mane with a self-conscious smile, evading his eyes. “It’s unheard of.”

“I see.”

“He was right, of course. I made toys levitate from inside my crib. I burned the dishes I didn’t like and multiplied the food I loved. I changed the rain to sunshine when they didn’t let me go out to play.”

“What a pest.”

“Indeed.” Merlin laughed, but something was off. “Everyone was scared of me. My wet nurses. My tutors. The courtisans’ sons and daughters… even my parents, sometimes.” He laughed again, aiming for levity despite the pain that was evident in his voice. “If you think you’re unpopular in Ealdor, you should have seen me.”

Arthur felt his heart tighten. He knew loneliness, he knew the cruelty and the hypocrisy of the royal courts, he knew the feeling of having been depraved of a normal, happy childhood; but he sensed that Merlin had had it far worst than he did.

“I…”

“No” said Merlin, raising a finger with a mock-threatening expression on his beautiful face. “I don’t need your compassion as you don’t need mine. And I’m quoting here.”

Arthur looked at him with mild shock, then laughed.

“ _Touché_.”

“Ah, that feels good. Anyway, the prophecy also said another couple of things that _really_ made me something of a catch. The first was that I am, apparently, ‘the Last Dragonlord’. Nobody knew what that meant exactly, but the most accredited interpretation was that my bloodline would end with me because I was incapable to have children.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “You can imagine the jokes about the long line of princesses waiting outside the castle, _desperate_ to marry me.”

Arthur digested this information, then said: “And is that true?”

Merlin blushed a deep red and looked beyond uncomfortable. Arthur internally kicked himself. Morgana was right: sometimes he had the tact of a boar.

“I wouldn’t know yet, would I” muttered Merlin. 

“Sorry, that was-”

“A legitimate question” completed Merlin in a tired voice. Then, smirking with a devilish light in his eyes: “Not that the two of us could ever find out, Arthur, prophecy or not.”

It was Arthur’s turn to blush, damn him.

“How funny, dear husband.”

“I’m just irresistible.”

_ You truly are,  _ thought Arthur, looking at him with fake disapproval. _And I want to run through with my sword every single person in that stupid Ealdor land of yours for not seeing it._

“Is that it? The whole prophecy?”

Merlin met his gaze – how incredibly blue his eyes were when the sunlight hit him just like _that_ \- and sobered all of a sudden.

“No, there’s one last thing.”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it with a strange expression on his face. It almost looked like… modesty. Like he was baring himself to the bone.

“Tell me you’re not destined to kill me” said Arthur, trying to dissimulate his anticipation.

Merlin laughed and shook his head.

“Unfortunately that’s not the case.”

“Pity.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“What is it, then?”

Merlin tilted his head, considering him with the most careful attention. Arthur felt physically incapable to lower his eyes: Merlin’s face was like a magnet calling some forgotten part of himself to light. Anchoring him.

Then Merlin smiled, and Arthur let out a relieved breath, like he’d just been pulled up from an undescribable depth.

“Kilgarrah said that I would help the Once and Future king unite the land of Albion, and that magic would return in every part of the realm.” His eyes were glittering again, hopeful, full of life. “I thought, ‘Well, that’s better than being sterile. This… this could be good’. And when you wrote to my father asking for a peace treaty, Arthur, I knew. I just _knew_.”

Arthur’s heart was beating so fast in his chest his ears were ringing. He remembered seeing Merlin for the first time - recalled with absolute clarity the long blue cloak hugging his tall form, the elegance of his steps, the sweetness of his smiles that screamed youth and energy. He’d had the similar impression of familiarity: _oh, it’s you. It’s always been you._ But it had been sentiment talking, not some prophecy, not an ambitious political design. Merlin saw him as a missing piece to his identity; Arthur violently, desperately longed for everything this fated boy represented without knowing why, willing to annihilate himself if it meant keeping Merlin close. He would have married him even if the dragon had foretold neverending ruin on Camelot. Merlin made him feel wild, unreasonable, out of control. And he didn’t like it – but was, at the same time, addicted to it.

“So you took the chance,” he said, fighting to contain the tremour in his voice, “and left for good.”

“I- yes”. Merlin swallowed, stopped similing, and looked away. “I just didn’t fit in anymore. I wanted to find somewhere where I did.”

“Had any luck?” Arthur heard himself ask, hands holding the reins still a bit shaky.

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure yet.”

Arthur, despite his inner turmoil, smiled. 

“When I took that decision” continued Merlin, “I thought everyone would be relieved. Our wedding would win an extremely powerful ally for Ealdor and my, er… my being the Last Dragonlord problem wouldn’t matter, since I was getting married to a man. And I’d be doing something useful with my powers, something _good_ , helping to secure protection for all Druids and magical people. But my parents were worried and Will was positively furious.”

“Because he didn’t trust me either?”

“Because you were royalty. _And_ the son of Uther Pendragon.”

Arthur frowned. “But… you _are_ royalty.”

Merlin shielded his face from a low branch and smiled fondly, probably remembering something funny.

“I was the exception”. He shrugged. “His words, of course, not mine.”

Seeing Arthur’s perplexed expression he explained, “Will isn't of noble blood. He’s a farmer.”

“Your closest friend” said Arthur, blinking, “is a _farmer_?”

“Your surprise is insulting, dear husband.”

“No, I-” He made a vague gesture, embarassed. “There’s nothing wrong with it. A good number of my knights don’t come from noble families. I personally changed the rules to make it possible.”

Merlin’s face lit up with happy wonder. “You did?”

Arthur went pink with pleasure. He really was more dependent on Merlin’s appreciation now than he was on adrenaline back in his battle days. “Yes. They’re incredible warriors regardless of how they were born. The law was obsolete. Stupid.”

Merlin shook his head with a bittersweet smile. “If only Will could listen. He’d probably hate you a bit less. And me as well.”

“Seems quite the opinionated type, this Will”.

“He’s fearless.” Oh, how Arthur _hated_ the proud, longing expression painted on Merlin’s face: no one should have been able to deserve it but him and him alone. “We met when we were children. I had escaped from the castle after my magic had lashed out – you see, I wasn’t able to control it as well as I do now. Back then, when I got angry, or sad, or just disappointed, I’d cause damages without really wanting to. Nothing major: breaking glasses, making nettle grow on the walls, blowing out _all_ the candles during banquets… But I used to get severely scolded – from afar: no one dared coming close to me, except my mother – and… well, I took it badly. So I ran away, hid in a barn and enjoyed the thought of everyone looking for me in all corners of the castle, frantic with worry.

I remembering feeling so alone, so… misunderstood. I hugged my knees and started crying and crying like a baby. Then, all of a sudden, I heard a voice commenting that I was _such_ a girl’s petticoat, bawling my eyes out like that. I turned my head and there he was, this boy looking unsufferably smug and filthy beyond repair.” Merlin smiled again at the mental image and Arthur turned positively _murderous_ against this wretched Will of Ealdor, “I replied that I would turn him into a toad for his insolence and he just said, “Really?”, and looked _delighted._ Yes, really, I said. Don’t you know who I am? He said of course I do, you’re the bloody prince of Ealdor, the one that set fire to the Royal Stables last week. I thought that was just great. Can you show me? Maybe not with my father’s barn, he’d kill me.”

“You liked him” commented Arthur, still displeased but reluctanctly moved at the same time, “because he didn’t care for who you were.”

Merlin nodded, eyes a bit shiny.

“And he was never afraid of me. _Never._ Not one time. From that day on, we were inseparable. He brought me back to court that same evening and my parents were so grateful that they invited him to play with me almost on a daily basis. He saved my childhood – hell, he saved all of me from loneliness and self-loathing. He just didn’t _care_ what other people thought _._ And so I started not caring, too.”

They could see the villages in front on them. The sun was shining like a sword’s blade, blinding, almost painful. Arthur looked at Merlin, positively resplendent with his hair tousled and his lively grin back in place, and felt his heart swell with that strange, complete happiness only he was able to evoke.

“Another thing he didn’t care about was, of course, _that idiotic prophecy._ He couldn’t stand Kilgarrah – neither could I, sometimes, he’s incredibly pompous, even for a dragon – and thought I was embarking on some sort of suicidal mission because of my unresolved self-hatred. _You believe them, deep down,_ he spat out the day before my wedding. He was so angry he could barely speak. _You believe them and you want to atone, to be liked, to prove something. Even if it means giving up your entire life to marry a man you haven’t even seen before, just because he writes such noble letters. You’re a fool, Merlin Emrys. And a coward. Yours is nothing but an escape.”_ Merlin paused, looking depressed but somehow resignated. “I guess he was right, in a way.”

“Merlin” started Arthur, incensed, “it’s _your_ life. _Your_ choices. You have every right to seek something different, something that seems to have _meaning_ , for yourselves and for others. What you did was the exact contrary of cowardice. It was extremely brave, and selfless.” 

Merlin swallowed and looked at him with parted lips. “Arthur-”

“And I’ll tell you one more thing, even if I don’t personally know this Will: he didn’t want you to leave because he’d desperately miss you. He couldn’t accept losing his closest friend to a hostile land who hated your kin up until six months ago. And that’s perfectly understandable, even if he didn’t know how to tell you without being aggressive. Deep inside, I’m sure he admires you, as it seems to me he’s always had. Give him time: he will reach out. And you could invite him here to see for himself that Camelot’s not that bad.” _That_ I _’m not that bad. And that I’m taking care of you, better than even_ he _ever did._

Merlin inhaled deeply, like his chest felt too full to breathe properly, and smiled with that sort of shyness he’d displayed before while talking of their joint prophecy. 

“Thank you, Arthur. You- It’s very kind. What you said.”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s what I think.”

Merlin exhaled and closed his eyes against the sun, head tilted back and lips relaxed in a soft smile. 

“Enjoy this fine weather while you still can, my dear husband” he said. “It’s not going to last.”


End file.
